


The Underground

by EmmaArthur



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Anxiety, Centered on The Gifted, Clarice is looking for a job, Crossover from chapter 26, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, John lives with them, Marcos and Lorna own a cafe, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Sensory Processing Disorder, Thunderblink-centered, coffee shop AU, they're messed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 69,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaArthur/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: Marcos and Lorna own a small café called the Underground. John lives with them since he was discharged from the Marines. Clarice is looking for a job.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Light description of anxiety]
> 
> My brain apparently decided it can handle writing and posting three multi-chapters at the same time, though I'm a lot less sure. I don't really know where this came from, but I wrote it at the same time as The World As We Know It, so some things tie in with that. It's a self-standing AU though.
> 
> It starts as a light-hearted coffee-shop AU. Probably won't stay that way.
> 
> Enjoy!

Clarice takes off her sunglasses and eyes the unassuming front window of the little café, above which a sign reads _The Underground._ It doesn't seem to live up at all to the promise of the name, consisting of a single well-lit room with the counter at the back, not seeming to offer any kind of exciting and forbidden night-life. The tables and chairs are a soft sea green, painted wood on metal legs rather than the more common plastic, and the whole place has a slight vintage feel to it.

Clarice pushes the door, feeling more self-conscious with each step. She hasn't been in this kind of neighborhood for months, if not years. She's not usually welcome in such nice-looking places. Shatter may have assured her that the owners of the  café are mutant-friendly, she won't believe it until she sees it with her own eyes.

The  café is nearly empty, with only a young man sitting behind the counter  reading on his phone and one patron sitting at the table furthest back.

“Hi,” Clarice says to the man behind the counter. “I heard you're looking to hire someone part time?”

To his credit, the man doesn't even start at her appearance when he looks up. He smiles instead, in a warm kind of way.

“Yes we are,” he nods. “You're looking for a job? It's going to be quiet here for a while, so we can sit down and talk if you have time.”

Clarice hesitates, eyeing the two men in the room. It doesn't seem to be standard hiring procedure, but she doesn't see a real threat there. The man is friendly but hasn't given her a second look, and the one patron hasn't even looked up from his computer.

“You can also drop your resume with me if you prefer,” the owner smiles.

“No, I have some time,” Clarice decides. Who is she kidding? She's been looking for a job for months, she has nothing but time. “I'm Clarice.”

“Marcos,” the owner says, coming around the counter to shakes her hand. “I own this place with my girlfriend Lorna. We can sit over here,” he indicates a table by the counter. “You like coffee? If you're here for the job, it's on the house.”

“Wow, you don't do things halfway, do you?” Clarice deadpans, despite her brain screaming at her to stop and sit down politely. “Yes, I like coffee,” she adds more kindly.

Marcos goes back behind the counter while she drops her coat over a chair and starts the machine. “John, you want some more?” he asks.

The man Clarice had assumed was a simple patron looks up. “Yes, please.” His eyes run over Clarice, but he doesn't show any surprise and simply nods at her. Clarice nods back, noticing his chiseled features and the Native beaded bracelet on his wrist. Neither of the two men have any obvious mutation, but Clarice has yet to meet a human who doesn't react when spotting her eyes, so she assumes they're probably mutants.

Marcos leans over the counter. “John here is a good friend, and he helps out with the accounts and other boring stuff,” he tells Clarice. “For that, he gets free drinks whenever he wants,” he adds with a wink. “He regularly tries to pay anyway, so you should be warned.”

Clarice startles at Marcos talking like she's already hired. “Shouldn't you read my resume before you start showing me around?”

“I will, don't worry,” Marcos says, putting the three cups on a tray. He places one on his friend's table and goes over to sit across from Clarice. “But we don't have any other candidates, and I know something of the struggle to find a job for mutants who can't pass. So as far as I'm concerned, as long as you show up on time and get along with everyone, you're hired.”

Clarice stomps down carefully on the inner voice that wants her to do a victory dance. She's faced rejection for so long that she can't quite help being allured by Marcos's easy acceptance. It's immediately followed by a weight of lead in her stomach, and her face falls.

“Sorry,” she says, “but I can't take a job out of charity. You don't know anything about me.”

“I know you have bartender experience. And I know you're a good person who can't find a job because people are hateful. Shatter called me, told me about you. It's enough for me.”

“Oh,” Clarice says, feeling foolish. “Well, I still think you should follow proper hiring procedure.”

“Sure, we can do this like an interview if you want. I'll read your resume, you'll tell me about yourself, and _then_ I can show you around,” Marcos says with a half-smile, like he's laughing at her.

Clarice takes a sip of her coffee, trying not to show her annoyance.

“Marcos already likes you,” the other man−John−says from his corner of the room. “It takes a lot to change his mind, so you might as well not bother.”

Clarice turns to him in surprise. He's been so quiet that she'd already forgotten he was there.

“John, try not to scare her away, will you?” Marcos says.

John just smirks and holds out his cup. Clarice can't help smiling back, amused at the two men's antics.

“I'm not scared yet,” she says.

“Alright, then, give me that resume of yours,” Marcos says. “You know it's only a part-time position?”

“At this point, I'll take anything I can get,” Clarice admits quietly. She would never say that in a classical interview, but somehow she already feels safe and comfortable with these two men. Mutants. Her own kind. She's rarely seen an openly mutant-run place before, there are so few of them. Most mutants either have to hide what they are, or contend themselves with menial jobs.

“Why do you need additional help anyway?” Clarice asks, eyeing the empty room.

“Oh, don't worry, this is just the afternoon lull. We're plenty busy in the morning and at lunchtime. We've managed on our own for the last year, but the café is getting more and more popular, and Lorna and I are going to have a baby.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Clarice exclaims, more out of politeness than genuine happiness, but Marcos's face lights up.

“The baby is due in September,” he says, “and it could be a difficult pregnancy because of Lorna's powers, so we thought we'd get someone now rather than wait until she's on maternity leave. That way you can get used to the way things work before you have to take over. And we'll want to cut our hours after the baby's born, so it should be a long term position too.”

Clarice nods. “Good,” she says. She hasn't been able to stay in the same place more than a few months in a row in years, but this could be it. She can only hope.

“When can you start?” Marcos asks, somewhat out of the blue.

“Oh, uh, I don't know−” Clarice answers in panic.

“Hey, it's okay, I just want to know if you have other engagements you need to be done with first.”

“No, nothing,” Clarice says.

“Then I'll expect you to be here at eight on Tuesday. I can have the contract drawn-up by then. Now will you let me give you a tour?”

 

“So you've met Marcos?” Shatter asks when Clarice swings by the shelter the next day.

She's been volunteering here for a while, now, since she's had nothing else to do. It's a mixed human and mutant shelter, mostly for homeless families, and it's one of the rare places where Clarice doesn't feel unwelcome.

“Yes,” she answers. “I got the job. Thanks to you, apparently.”

“You're not happy with that.”

“Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for what you did,” Clarice says slowly.

“You just wish you could get a job just because of your qualifications. I know what it feels like, Clarice. I also know that sometimes you have to let go of your pride and take what's offered.”

“I guess. Marcos seems like a good guy, at least.”

“He really is,” Shatter says. “We've been good friends for years.”

“And his girlfriend?”

“Lorna? Did you meet her?”

“No, she wasn't around”, Clarice answers.

“She's...a bit intense, but you get used to it. She's a very vocal mutant rights activist, and not just for the ones who can pass. She's done a lot of work at the mutant community center, and she's usually the one organizing protests around here.”

“She sounds like someone to know.”

“Definitely. You've ever been to the center?”

“Not yet,” Clarice says. She's been in the city for a couple of months, but she's been hesitant to get involved with the local mutant groups. She's had too many bad experiences before. Between the mutant supremacists and Brotherhood affiliates, the separatists and the ones who believe visible mutants don't belong with them, there's plenty of organizations she doesn't want anything to do with.

“You should, they're good,” Shatter says. “They have evening classes on everything from yoga to Controlling Your Ability 101, and conferences every other Saturday.”

“Controlling Your Ability 101?” Clarice repeats. “That sounds like a load of bullshit.”

“It's not. John's very good at what he does. He's trained with the best.”

“John?”

“John Proudstar,” Shatter answers. “He's our other local activist. He and Lorna run the center together.”

“Athletic guy, long hair, Native jewelry? I think I met him at the café.”

“Yeah, that's him. He's a Marine. Well, former Marine now, I suppose. He set up the fundraising that got us the new building.”

“Former Marine? What does he do now?” Clarice asks. “I assume he's not making a living from giving evening classes to mutant kids.”

Shatter looks suddenly uncomfortable. “He came back from Afghanistan a few months ago,” he says. “He's been living with Marcos and Lorna. He mostly takes care of the center.”

Clarice picks up on his hesitation and doesn't push. “So you guys have a pretty active community, huh?” she says instead.

“Sure,” Shatter nods. “It's nice to have somewhere to go where you're not judged, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Clarice mutters.

 

Clarice doesn't do much for the rest of the weekend. She hasn't really had time to make friends in the city, and most of her acquaintances are from the shelter. She stays at home instead, binge watching her favorite shows with hot chocolate. On Monday, she gets up before six to go for a run, since it's the only time she won't get stared at.

She can handle herself against attackers or even people who hurl insults at her, but she's just tired of it. It's been getting worse, lately. Or maybe it's just being in a large city again, maybe it's just worse in Atlanta.

So she locks herself up in her crappy apartment and scrolls her Twitter timeline, smiling at memes and encouraging her Internet friends. Most of them are mutant right activists, people she's never met and never intends to, but usually reading their messages buoys her.

As the day wears on though, she grows more and more apprehensive about starting the job tomorrow. How will the customers receive her? Marcos and John may not have a problem with her appearance, but what if this Lorna does? What if she's run out by some hate group again? There's more than enough of them around.

She goes to bed in a state of high anxiety, and she sleeps fitfully until her alarm wakes her up at six-thirty. Though she decided on the outfit to wear three days ago−Marcos didn't tell her if they have any kind of uniform, but the café doesn't seem the type−she frets over her makeup for a while, until she decides it doesn't really matter. She's probably end up being fired before anyone remarks on how much eyeliner she put on. No one ever notices her makeup once they've seen her eyes, anyway.

The café is close enough to walk to, which is good since she doesn't have a car anymore. She left the last one in Athens, burned down by Purifiers. She hasn't had enough money for a new one, even a crappy second-hand one, in the year since she ran away.

The café isn't open yet when she arrives five minutes before eight, but Clarice can see Marcos behind the counter. She knocks on the glass door, removing her sunglasses, and Marcos looks up at her.

Clarice recoils in surprise when the door opens on its own before she can push it. She steps in hesitantly, trying to school her features into something both open and professional, but Marcos just smirks at her.

“Good morning,” he says. “You're right on time. Don't worry about the door, Lorna was just showing off.”

Clarice looks around her to find a woman younger than her sitting cross-legged on a table. The first thing Clarice notices is her green hair, even before she sees the greenish light show around her hand. The door closes and locks itself again behind Clarice.

“So you're Clarice,” she says. “I'm Lorna. Nice to meet you.”

Clarice privately thinks Lorna doesn't sound all that happy to meet her, but it my just be her anxiety talking. She smiles and, when Lorna makes no move to shake her hand or even stand, waves awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you too,” she says. “And congratulations, for the baby.” She hesitates. She wants to ask about her abilities, but it can be such horribly bad form to ask questions about it first thing. But then Lorna did just show off.

“Lorna can control metal and magnetism,” Marcos relieves her of her dilemma.

“What do you do?” Clarice asks more confidently, seeing how relaxed they are about this.

Marcos holds out his hands. As he opens them, they start emitting light, until it gets so bright that Clarice has to turn away.

“Nice,” she says.

“You turn,” Lorna says, jumping down from her table. “Unless your mutation is just cosmetic?”

Clarice tenses a bit, not sure she likes her tone. So what if it was just her eyes and ears and face mark?

Out of pure rebellion, she concentrates on a small portal−anything large enough to transport a human would take too much time−that opens right above the table Lorna just vacated. She drops her sunglasses into it, making the young woman jump when they make a noise behind here.

Marcos whistles appreciatively, smirking at Lorna's surprise.

“A teleporter?” Lorna asks, eyeing the glasses. “That's nice. Useful. Can you portal yourself as well?”

“If I need too,” Clarice answers. “But it takes a lot of energy.”

“Now that the introductions have been made, how about we get to work?” Marcos comes over from behind the counter. “This place isn't gonna run itself.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More John in this one, but it's still mostly introducing the universe, not much action. Though Clarice is falling head over heels.
> 
> Two short notes :  
> \- I'm no good at writing romance. Seriously. I'm aroace, so it makes pretty much no sense to me, and I have no idea why I like writing Thunderblink. But in any case, having them meet and develop feelings for each other is putting me way out of my comfort zone, and I'll always write romantic relationship as friendships first, with added extras...  
> \- Anti-mutant rhethoric, whatever it's supposed to be called (there should be a name for it. Lauren uses racism in the pilot, but we need something specific). I tend to write it like ableism, because there are a lot of parallels (and because it's the oppression I know best). Clarice displays more than a bit of internalized ableism-for-mutant (or whatever) in this chapter, so you should be warned if you're sensitive to that kind of things, and also know that it doesn't mean they're my opinion, just where she is as a character at this point.

A few hours into her shift, Clarice is engrossed in getting all the orders right when John walks into the café. Marcos is looking over her shoulder to make sure she doesn't make mistakes, and at this hour the crowd enjoying a late breakfast is crossing with those taking their mid-morning break, so the café is packed. Marcos didn't lie when he said they have plenty of work to do. Clarice can't even see how he and Lorna managed on their own.

She catches a glimpse of John as he crosses the room to the employee-only door at the back. Clarice now knows that Marcos and Lorna−and, according to Shatter, John himself−live upstairs, so she assumes that's where he's headed. She loses track of everything but what's in front of her after that.

Fifteen minutes later he's somehow standing in line in front of her.

“Hi,” he says with a blinding smile when the customer before him leaves.

“Why did you even take the line?” Clarice asks bluntly. “I thought you were basically part of the house.”

“Seemed only fair,” John says. “And I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh, so you're gonna watch me until I make a mistake?”

John laughs. “Should I? I really meant I wanted to say hi.”

“Well, hi, then,” Clarice says dryly. “What's your order today?”

“Coffee, black,” John answers, putting a few bills on the counter.

“I've been told not to take your money,” Clarice says.

“Hum, already trained, I see,” John pouts, taking back his cash. “I had to try.”

“Why?”

“Because you're new?”

“No, I mean why do you bother trying to pay? If Marcos and Lorna don't want you to.”

“I'm here almost every day,” John says. “I don't see how living with them gives me the right to abuse their friendship by getting free coffee as well. But it's nothing _you_ need to worry about.”

“Clarice, the line is getting longer,” Marcos starts, coming behind her. “Oh, hey, John. You're the one holding everyone up?”

“Sorry,” John says, not sounding very sorry. Clarice puts his coffee down on the counter. John takes it with a grateful smile. “Here it is. I'm going now, don't worry.”

Absently taking the next customer's order, Clarice can't help following him with her eyes as he goes to sit at the same table as the other day. The tight tee-shirt he's wearing is showing off his muscular arms nicely, but he looks tired, and he walks like he's trying not to limp. Clarice frowns.

“Hey,” Marcos puts a hand on her shoulder. “Lost in your thoughts? Come on, ten more minutes and you can take a break.”

“Sorry,” Clarice says, coming back to the task in front of her and realizing she hasn't heard a word of what the customer just asked for. “Can you say that again?” she asks him apologetically.

 

Clarice doesn't know what makes her go straight to John's table when her break starts, but she can feel Marcos's amused gaze on her.

John looks up from his computer and smiles when she sits across from him. “Hey there,” he says.

“Hey yourself,” Clarice says. She doesn't understand why she feels so comfortable with someone she's barely met, but all she's heard about John paints him as a good man, so she's willing to go with the flow.

“So how's your day going so far?” John asks. “Made any mistake with the orders yet?”

Clarice blushes−wow, she hasn't done that in a while. “Not yet,” she answers, trying to make it playful rather than shy. “You distracted me, though.”

“Sorry about that,” John laughs. “Couldn't help myself. We haven't had someone new around here in a while.”

“Right,” Clarice says. “I heard you work at the mutant community center?”

“Part-time, yes,” Johns answers. “I was just working on our summer schedule, actually. Marcos told you that?”

“Shatter. So what's going to happen at the center this summer?”

John looks at her, like he's trying to evaluate whether she really wants to know or if she's just making conversation. Clarice returns his stare challengingly.

“Well, our year-round courses stop during the summer holidays, but we try to have activities for the kids during the day, especially for those who can't go on vacation. This year we should also have a couple of weekend self-defense workshops for adults and teenagers. Then there's our annual summer celebration, and our Independence Day party, of course.”

“You're organizing all that?”

“Thank God no!” John exclaims. “Just the workshops and some of the kids' stuff. But I'm responsible for our accounts, so I have to know what's going on. Have you been to the center? I don't remember seeing you there.”

“No, I've only been in town for a couple of months.”

“A couple of months is long enough to check out the local community though, isn't it?”

“I guess,” Clarice says, a bit annoyed at having to justify herself. “I was looking for a job, and I didn't have time for anything else. I did meet Shatter though. I've been volunteering at the shelter.”

The truth is that she heard about the center on her first day here, but it's open affiliations with activist groups made her reluctant to even go there. She's done with mutant politics. To be honest, she doesn't even know what she's doing here talking to John, who in Shatter's words is a pretty vocal advocate for mutant rights. She swore to herself she wouldn't get involved again.

“Right,” John says. “Well, you're welcome to come by anytime. You might be interested to know that one of our missions is helping mutants find jobs where they won't be discriminated against.”

“I have a job, now,” Clarice answers, letting some of her irritation show. “What makes you think I want another?”

“This is a part-time position, and I was there when you talked with Marcos, remember? But you're right, I shouldn't be making assumptions,” John apologizes, raising his hands in surrender. “We've barely met, after all.”

C larice nods curtly. “I should get back to work,” she says.

“Of course,” John smiles politely. 

Clarice get up, already regretting the surprising easiness of their first exchanges. “You want another coffee?” she asks, nodding toward his empty cup.

“Not yet,” John says, with a warmer tone. “But thank you.”

Going back behind the counter, Clarice can't help throwing another glance at him, engrossed once again in whatever he's doing on his computer.  She curses herself,  purposefully  looking away. She's far too distracted for her first day on a new job.

 

It takes Clarice a few  weeks to settle into the job and get a feel for the café's rhythm.  She work s Tuesday through Friday, from opening to three p.m. The café is open until six, but they don't need her because it's always quieter in the afternoon. Most of the crowd  consists of students and teachers from the nearby university building, which is why Marcos and Lorna haven't considered opening on  weekends so far.

T he job is  a good  one , all things considered. Her part-time salary isn't going to be enough to  buy herself a new car anytime soon, but it pays the rent and she's lived on a lot less. The café has a nice atmosphere even at the busiest times, and she gets on well with Marcos. Lorna has been a bit standoffish so far, but Clarice hasn't had to work with her that much, so they have yet to really get to know each other.

John is there most days, usually coming in  sometime in the morning and staying at least until the end of Clarice's shift.  He always sits at the same table, which Marcos often reserves for him in the mornings. Clarice often finds herself observing him work, and she occasionally feels his gaze on her, but they don't say more than basic niceties to each other. A certain coolness seems to have instilled itself between them, and though John clearly regrets it, Clarice is glad that it keeps him at arm's length. She has no intention on acting on her attraction for him.

Though it would be much easier to convince herself of that if she wasn't stalking him on social media during the weekends. The worst part is that he doesn't actually post anything, so she has to look at Marcos and Lorna's Instagram  S tories to get glimpse s of him.  She feels  like a thirteen-y ear -old with a crush, it's ridiculous .

She notices several visible mutants come into the café, grabbing a sandwich with a wave at Marcos or sitting down for a while with friends. Clarice realizes that she's never truly be en in a place where humans and mutants are this comfortable side by side.  Patrons rarely  even look at her sideways, and that's only ever happened to her before in  mutant-only spaces− though even there, she's faced plenty of hatred.

Some of the mutants who come in have it even worse than her, who can mostly pass in the street s if she wears sunglasses. Pedro, who orders black coffee at nine every morning and chatters with Marcos in Spanish, probably couldn't disguise himself if he tried. The first time Clarice is the one to take his order, he nods at her with a smile and a look  of recognition  in his eyes, one she knows well. It would be like a secret handshake if it wasn't so bitter.

There are others, too, who don't have obvious mutations, but who greet Marcos and Lorna more familiarly than regular patrons,  and often sit with John .  Clarice doesn't manage to keep track of  all of  them, but she assumes they're members of the mutant center, or at least of the local community. 

One red-haired woman sits awfully close to John, almost talking in his ear, making Clarice frowns. She hasn't seriously considered that he might be with someone−there's nothing that points to that on his online profile, and she knows he lives with Marcos and Lorna−but she hates how the thought make s her feel.  Which is completely unfair, because she's not interested in him. At all.

B y the end of her third week, she's exhausted. She hasn't needed to be on her feet  this much in a while, but more than that, she hasn't had an occupation where she needed to see so many people in one day in a long time. She's gotten far too used to sitting at home on her own and only seeing a few select friends.

“It takes a while to get used to,” Marcos tells her when he notices her tiredness.

“You tell me. How long have you been doing this?”

“The café's only been open for about a year, but I worked at a nightclub back before I met Lorna.”

“A nightclub? You?” Clarice can't quite see it. So far, Marcos has been the picture of the quiet, settled expectant father. Not the kind of person you'd chose to mix drinks in a club.

“I was very different, back then,” Marcos smiles. “But I wasn't very good at the job. I was dating the owner's daughter, and her father tried to provide for me by making me work for him.”

“That sounds−” Clarice starts.

“Shady?”

“I was going to say old-school.”

“Oh. Well, in any case, he threw me out when I broke up with his daughter. That's when I met Lorna. What about you, you have anyone in your life?”

“Nope,” Clarice shrugs. “I'm happily single.”

She's fairly sure Marcos sees right through her smile, glimpsing the bad experiences that got her there, but he doesn't comment on it.

“Does that mean you're free next weekend? We're having a get-together at the mutant center Saturday night, you should come. You haven't been there yet, have you? Shatter will be there, and John.”

“Damn,” Clarice groans.

“What?”

“You're the third person to tell me I should come to the center. I can't really resist any longer without being weird, can I?”

“Why the resistance?” Marcos asks, frowning.

“I'm just not one for social niceties, that's all,” Clarice answers, conscious that she's far from convincing once again. She needs to work on her evasion techniques.

“Right. Well, I won't try to convince you, Lorna or John can do that better than me. But I will tell you those are usually very nice events.”

“I'll think about it,” Clarice shrugs, grabbing her handbag and her coat. “See you on Tuesday.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with a new chapter! A little more backstory about this AU's Clarice, a lot of pre-Thunderblink...
> 
> Enjoy !

Clarice wakes up late on Tuesday and skips breakfast to catch up, only to realize just outside her building that she's forgotten her sunglasses. She searches her bag up and down in a panic, even though she knows she put them on the table last night and that they're most likely still there. A look at her phone tells her she's really going to be late if she runs back up now.

Taking a deep breath, she raises her head, trying to reason with herself. Those glasses have become a shield, hiding her eyes, protecting her from the outside world, but she doesn't really need them. She can handle herself if anything happens.

A couple of passersby look at her in curiosity, but there is no malice in their eyes. Relieved, Clarice holds herself a little straighter. She passes a few more people, some of whom carefully stay far away from her like she's got some contagious disease, but all in all it's pretty harmless.

Until she spots a small group to the side. All men, white, throwing her dirty looks. She doesn't catch much of their dark muttering, but the looks, the 'freak' and 'mutie' they're careful to let her hear, it's enough to send her in a full-blown panic attack, like she hasn't had in weeks.

Running back up to her apartment, breathing unevenly, she barely manages to send a text to Marcos to say she's running late. It probably doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's the best she can do.

Except inside the café, she hasn't been anywhere in public without hiding her eyes since Athens, only briefly switching from sunglasses to a low hat and keeping her head down in the dead of winter. She's just as tired of the whole “mutant and proud” rhetoric as she is with the mutant-haters, she's lost too much to both. She's not sure when her fear of another Purifier attack developed into full-blown anxiety, but it's become a fight or flight response that she can't control.

When she finally makes it to the café, nearly an hour late with the time it took her to calm herself down and stop seeing white crosses everywhere, her mind is blank of any good excuse for her lateness. It turns out she doesn't need one.

“Clarice, what happened? You're white as a sheet,” Marcos says when she reaches the counter, quietly excusing himself to his customer. He signals Lorna to take over and brings Clarice into the back room. He doesn't actually touch her, which Clarice is thankful for.

“What happened to you?” he repeats after making her sit down.

“Nothing, I'm fine,” Clarice says, trying to hide her still shaking hands under the table.

“No you're not. But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

Clarice nods, speechless. Is he really going to let her off the hook with a scrambled text and no proper excuse?

She stands up again, reaching for her name tag on the shelf.

“What are you doing?” Marcos asks.

“Going to work. I'm already late, so−”

“Absolutely not. You're going to sit down and I'm going to bring you some hot chocolate. I don't want you out of that chair until you have some color back in you.”

“But I−” Clarice starts, desperately looking around her for an escape.

“Look, if you try to work right now, you're just going to be distracted and mix orders. I'm not just doing this for you. Lorna and I can handle things for a while.”

“Fine,” Clarice relents. She wants to say thank you, but the words don't make it past her lips.

“However, this place is about to get real busy and I have to get out there. I don't want you to be alone, so I'm going to ask John to come and sit with you. Is that okay?”

“It's not necessary−”

“No, I meant−you're not angry with him or anything, are you? You've been...distant with him.”

“No, we're fine, but−”

“It's settled, then. One hot chocolate coming up.”

He doesn't let her try to protest again and slips back out of the room.

Clarice sighs. Marcos is probably right that she's in no state to work, but she feels awful about it. This is so ridiculous. Nothing even happened, just her damn brain deciding to panic over a few looks. It definitely doesn't warrant taking a whole morning off work.

There is a knock on the door less than a minute later, and John comes in, carrying a tray with two large cups. “Hi,” he smiles at her. Clarice nods back and can't help staring as he comes closer. Not for the first time, his gait is strangely stiff and uneven, but this time he actually uses his free hand to lean on the furniture.

“What's wrong?” she asks, frowning.

“Um?”

“You're limping.”

“Oh, that. It's nothing, just an old injury acting up,” John says, sitting down across from her. “The real question is, how are you doing?”

“I'm fine,” Clarice says, sulkily. Now that the worst of her anxiety is over, she just feels embarrassed.

“Well, here's your hot chocolate,” John shrugs. “And I'm under strict orders not to let you out of my sight, so I got myself a coffee. I guess you're stuck with me.”

His tone is light, but Clarice can hear his hesitation, like he's not sure how welcome he is. Given how coolly she's treated him for the past few weeks, it's not surprising. She tries to think of something to says that won't sound ungrateful.

“I also wanted to apologize,” John beats her to it. “I shouldn't have pushed you on your first day.”

“You think I'm still angry over that?”

“I don't know,” John says. “Are you?”

“I wasn't even angry when it happened, just annoyed. Sorry I've been...you know. I didn't mean to make you think I blamed you.”

John nods. “It's okay. You don't owe me anything. I didn't deserve any better.”

“Yes you did,” Clarice says. “You were just trying to help. It's just that it's a sore subject, sometimes.”

“Finding a job?”

“Looking like me.”

“I think you look beautiful,” John smiles. Surprised, Clarice smiles back.

“Are you trying to flirt with me or reassure me?” she asks point blank.

“I don't know, which one is working best?”

Clarice gives him a look, and they both burst out laughing. She realizes that was precisely his intent, to distract her.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “I needed that.”

“Good. Now drink up before it gets cold.”

Clarice obeys and brings her cup to her mouth. The hot chocolate is perfect, just sweet enough and topped with a hint of cinnamon. She will really have to thank Marcos.

“Do you want to talk about what happened this morning?” John when after they've been silent for a while.

Clarice bites her lip. She feels much better, and she could probably just pretend nothing happen and harass Marcos into allowing her to work. But it won't take care of the underlying problem, and this is bound to happen again. Her anxiety has been getting worse, lately.

“It's ridiculous,” she says. “I just...I forgot my sunglasses and I panicked. I made a complete fool of myself, didn't I?”

“No you didn't,” John says. “This isn't something you can control.”

“I wish it was,” Clarice mutters.

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a year ago, I got into some trouble with some Purifiers, basically got run out of town,” Clarice starts. She hasn't really talked about this to anyone else before. She's not sure what makes her tell John the truth, only that she feels safe doing it, in a way that she hasn't felt safe since running away from her last foster home. She does leave out her short stint with the Brotherhood, but she doesn't hide how scared she's been of running into hate groups again.

“Clarice, this anxiety, it's not something that should be dismissed casually,” John says when she's done with her story. “It's your body's way of responding to trauma. It's not your fault, but you can't just sweep it under the rug.”

Clarice fights off her first instinct to respond sarcastically, and actually thinks about his words.

“You know a lot about this,” she says.

“I know because I've been there. You know I was a Marine?”

Clarice nods. “Shatter told me.”

“It can be hard to adjust, coming back from overseas. Sometimes you...need help.”

“But see, that's the thing. I can't even imagine what you've seen over there, what you've gone through, but you're still...strong. And I'm here panicking over shadows, and people who didn't actually hurt me.”

“Trauma is still trauma, however small. And what happened to you wasn't small, Clarice. Anyone would be scared. Just because they didn't attack you physically doesn't mean they didn't hurt you.”

“I know. I know all that, theoretically. But it's different when it happens to you. One day I feel like I'm imagining things, like I have no reason not to be perfectly fine, and then the next I'm having a day like today...it's so irrational, so random sometimes.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is,” John says simply.

When Marcos finally allows Clarice to start working, after an early lunch, she's decidedly feeling better, though embarrassed at the whole thing. She and John talked for nearly two hours, somehow, both about her anxiety and about inconsequential things like their favorite TV shows−of which they have so many in common that it's laughable. By the end, they've even exchanged their phone numbers, and Clarice is not at all sure what to think of that.

She still feels shaky through the rest of the day, but just raising her head and looking at John, who is back at his table, makes her feel better every time.

Neither Marcos nor Lorna ask questions, but Clarice doesn't miss their thoughtful looks. She doesn't dare ask if they're going to dock her pay for the hours she missed. Marcos and her work alongside each other smoothly by now, and she doesn't want to do anything more that might jeopardize her job.

John waves her goodbye with a large smile when she leaves. It brings warmth to Clarice's stomach, allowing her to affront the outside. She makes it to her apartment without any more difficulty, though she can't help walking too fast and looking around her.

 

John isn't there at all on Wednesday and Thursday, though Clarice catches both Marcos and Lorna frowning toward his empty table at different moments. It strikes her as odd−even if they're close friends, John is a grown man, his absence doesn't seem to warrant this much concern−but she shrugs it off and forgets about it, struggling to keep up with the load of patrons.

She keeps thinking about him, though, about what he told her. How could a near-complete stranger find the exact words she needed to hear? How did he get her to talk about something she hasn't even told her closest friends? Not that she has so many of those, but still. She could say she recognized a kindred spirit, someone who's gone through hardships like she has, but few mutants haven't. So why John? Why not Marcos, who's quickly becoming a good friend? Shatter, who has so much in common with her?

On Friday, John is already seated at his table when Clarice shows up for work. He looks tired, but he smiles at her when he sees her. They just nod to each other before Clarice heads to the back room to get her gear and name tag, and by the time she comes back, John is absorbed in a conversation with Lorna. Clarice tunes them out to take the first breakfast orders.

“So, are you coming tomorrow?” John asks her when she hands him a cup of coffee and sits down across from him, two hours later on her break.

“What's tomorrow?” Clarice frowns.

“Party at the center.”

“Right, I forgot. I thought it was just a small get-together, though.”

“It's not really a party, but nothing's ever small when it comes to these people,” John says. “We have a bunch of employees and volunteers, and most of the mutant families of the neighborhood usually come.”

“You do this often?” Clarice asks.

“Every couple of months. It's a nice way to introduce any new member of the community.”

“You're planning on introducing me?”

“Marcos probably is, but he wouldn't do anything without your permission, don't worry. But many of our friends have seen you here and they'd like to get to know you properly.”

“So, this is what it's like around here, uh?”

“What do you mean?” John frowns.

“I've lived in a bunch of places, with mutant communities ranging from non-existent to large and established,” Clarice explains. “It's always different. You can never tell if visible mutants will be welcome, or any kind of mutants, really, I've seen people reject psionics too. Sometimes they don't get together at all, just avoid each other as much as possible not to get in trouble.”

“Yeah, I guess we're a pretty tight group here,” John nods.

“Well, I'm glad you have it so good,” Clarice says bitterly. “I don't think I'm going to fit in, though. Thanks for the invite, but it's not for me.”

She starts rising, cursing that there's still coffee in her cup and it makes leaving now awkward.

“Won't you at least try?” John asks.

“I'm just not cut out for that kind of things.”

John grabs her arm before she can go, though he doesn't rise from his seat. Clarice starts. It's the first time he's touched her, and his skin feels strange. Hard, like he's made of stone instead of flesh.

“Please. It doesn't have to be tomorrow, just try to swing by the center someday. I think you're wrong about not fitting in. Let me show you why.”

As he lets go of her wrist, Clarice realizes, dimly, that she still doesn't know anything about John's mutation, just like he's never seen her portals. She looks at him, seeing the pleading in his eyes, then down at his hand again, looking like any other hand. Yet different.

“Fine, I'll think about it,” she says.

She doesn't look back as she gets around the counter and starts working again. She feels John's gaze on her back, but he doesn't try to speak to her again.

When she gets home that night, though, he's still at the forefront of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this AU may be fairly light for now, Clarice still has plenty of issues... Next chapter is from John's point of view, in which you may find out he has plenty of baggage as well!
> 
> Also, I'm not a fan of stories where characters run circles around each other not noticing they're attracted, so this is not going to be one of them. Clarice and John's relationship will have plenty of difficulties to get past, but not that kind.
> 
> Can you guess what John's backstory is? (yes, this is absolutely a comment bait. I love comments.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter from John's point of view, and we finally get to see the mutant center and that long-awaited party Clarice didn't want to hear about.
> 
> John's backstory will be revealed...slowly. It will take a few chapters. But there are a bunch of clues and reveals in here if you look closely, maybe especially if you know my other stories (and isn't that just the biggest clue).

“John! Where were you on Thursday? We missed you!”

John turns to see Naya and Skyler, the two most enthusiastic students in his teenage class, bound up to him.

“Hey kids,” he smiles. “Sorry I wasn't there, I wasn't feeling well. Did it go alright with Lorna?”

“Yes, but it's not the same! She's not patient like you,” Naya exclaims.

“I thought you were better now,” Skyler says more quietly.

“I am. I still have days I can't easily come here and teach, that's all. Don't worry about me, okay?”

Skyler nods slowly, unconvinced.

“Are your parents around?” John asks.

Naya shakes her head sadly. “They barely let me come. They're still not really okay with...you know.”

“They'll come around eventually,” John tries to reassure her. “You want me to go talk to them again?”

“I don't know,” Naya shrugs. “I don't think it would make a difference.”

“Okay. Just come to me if you need anything, as always.”

“Thanks. Skyler, want to get something to eat?”

“Sure,” Skyler nods.

John watches the two teenagers race each other to the buffet table, sighing. It saddens him, how much mutant kids have to suffer because of who they are. Naya and Skyler both come to all the free classes the center offers and hang out in the activities room after school almost every night, and John knows that's because it's better than going home to, at best, indifferent parents.

Getting up from his seat at the back of the large room they're hosting the party in, John starts doing the rounds, greeting everyone he knows and getting introduced to the few people he's never met. He's well known in the community, both for having taken over most of the center's management in the last few months and for his activism back when he was still in the Marines.

Everyone wants a word with him, and by the time he reaches the buffet table, John is exhausted and aching. It's been an active day, teaching two classes, overlooking the children activities and preparing for tonight, and he's been on his feet for far too long. He piles up a couple of canapes on a paper plate and heads for his office.

“You don't want champagne?” Marcos asks cheerfully when John walks past him, raising his eyebrow at the glass of orange juice he's holding.

“Not tonight,” John says.

Marcos sobers up and nods. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just tired. I'll be in my office if anyone needs me.”

“Alright. Take care.”

John nods and walks away, annoyed at how much he's limping. It's been a bad week. Two whole days out of commission, and he's still not back on track.

Once seated at his desk, he takes out a small bottle out of his pocket and pops a couple of pills into his mouth, absently massaging his thigh. He rinses them out with orange juice and eats a canape.

“Johnny?”

John raises his head, hiding the pill bottle back in his pocket almost guiltily. Sonya leans against the open door of his office.

“I thought you were still with Lorna,” he frowns.

“I saw you slip away from the party, I thought I'd keep you company,” she says with her signature sweet, caring smile.

“I don't need company,” John says, kindly but firmly. “I'm fine.”

He's getting really tired of his friends' solicitude, the concern that never seems to end. He used to have fun at this kind of get-together, but nowadays the kids are the only ones who don't look at him with sympathy, or worse, pity.

“You always are,” Sonya answers. There's too many meanings to this sentence for John's tired brain to extricate. “I wish we could talk more.”

“I'm here if you want to talk.”

“You know what I mean. All we seem to talk about anymore is how to keep this place afloat.”

John sighs. “Sonya, what do you want?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want.”

She walks off before John has time to answer−though he has no idea what he could have said. He sighs and stretches in his chair, wincing at the pull in his back.

He hears another set of footsteps coming toward his office and raises his head to see Clarice. She's wearing a short black dress and elegant make-up, looking very different from her professional but plain work attire.

“You came,” John smiles. He doesn't know exactly why her simple presence makes him forget his bad mood, but it does.

“Marcos said I'd find you here,” Clarice says, looking around. “This is your office?”

“Yes,” John says. “Even has my name on the door.”

“Why do you always work at the cafe if you have such a nice office?”

“I don't work here full time, and it's empty during workdays, we only open for the kids in the afternoons. So, what made you decide to come?”

“I guess you were convincing,” Clarice shrugs.

“Good. Marcos introduce you to people yet?”

“No, I came right in to see you. After all, you're the one who invited me.”

“Well, I'm flattered you didn't even stop to get a drink, but we should remedy that quickly,” John says, standing up. He hides his wince at his legs' protest and offers Clarice his arm.

“Why, thank you,” she plays along.

They walk out of his office together. Clarice is taller than usual, perched on heels instead of her sensible work shoes. She's not wearing perfume, which is honestly a relief. John can smell her shampoo though, grapefruit. It's the same as Lorna's. Something about mutation-colored hair, maybe.

“The woman I just saw leaving, Sonya is it?”

“Yes?”

“Are you two...”

John shakes his head. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, she's the only person I've heard call you Johnny, and you seem pretty close.”

“We...we dated for a few months several years ago, but when I was deployed, we decided not to go for the long-distance thing. We've just been friends ever since.”

“Oh, okay,” Clarice says. “So, why were you hiding back there?”

John laughs, embarrassed. “I'm not big on music and people,” he says. It's close enough to the truth.

“But you invited me to a party.”

“I didn't actually expect you to show up.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because people expect me to. I work here, remember?”

“Right,” Clarice says. “So, are we going to get me that drink or not?”

“Sure. Over there.”

John steels himself for the onslaught of noise as they walk into the center's main room. His office isn't sound-proof enough to muffle the noise completely, especially not for him, but at least it was bearable there.

It takes them a while to make it to the buffet table, as nearly everyone they pass waves at John, when they don't stop him to ask who he's with. He good-naturedly introduces Clarice as the Underground's new employee.

“They think we're together,” Clarice murmurs after a third person winks at them.

“Let them,” John says. “Plenty of rumors go around, but they fade just as fast. Unless you're ashamed,” he adds jokingly.

He immediately hates that it's only half a joke. Of course, Clarice doesn't have any real reason to be ashamed of being seen with him, not yet. She doesn't know. But he's caught what she hasn't, the half-pitying, half-admiring looks some people are giving them.

“As long as you're not ashamed of me,” Clarice answers, just as humorously, but there's an edge of seriousness in her voice too.

John takes a good look at her−breathtaking in her black dress, her purple hair cascading around her shoulders, her beautiful green eyes...right, she's probably had her fair share of people rejecting her because of her mutation. She even confided in him, how terrified she is of getting mobbed again.

“Never,” he answers, fully seriously.

“Good,” Clarice smiles.

“Champagne?”

“Sure.”

John hands her a flute and grabs a glass of water or himself.

“Thank you. You don't drink?” she asks.

“Not tonight,” John says. He doesn't offer anything more, and she doesn't ask.

Hearing Clarice's name somewhere in the crowd, John extends his senses briefly. It's loud enough that he regrets it immediately, as his vision fills with superposing faces and scenes and his ears start ringing.

“You okay?” Clarice picks up on his distress.

John uses her voice as an anchor to come back to himself. “Marcos is looking for you,” he says.

Clarice looks around her. “Where?”

“That way,” John gestures to the other end of the room, but he makes no move to go there. Even with the strong painkillers he took earlier, he's getting really unstable on his feet. He leans against the table, covering his move by grabbing a few canapes.

“Are you telepathic or something?” Clarice asks.

“No. Just have a really good hearing.”

“That's your mutation?”

John nods. “Enhanced senses. And super strength.” It's the easiest way to describe it, though not the whole truth. “What about you?”

“It's not a great place to show you, but I can make portals,” Clarice answers.

“Like...teleporting?”

“Yes.” She raises her hands and a spot of purple light forms between them. John stares, fascinated.

“That's about all I can make safely here,” she says. “Too many people.”

“I'd love to see it in full sometime,” John says.

Clarice smiles at him widely. Damn she's beautiful.

“Incoming,” John says when he hears Marcos's voice approach. They're quickly surrounded by most of the center's volunteer team, loudly greeting them and moving into their space. John smiles at them despite how much he wants−needs−to get away and off his feet, but Clarice suddenly looks like she wants to dive under the buffet table. It seems she really is not the social type.

“Clarice,” Marcos says, “this is Sage, our computer expert, Pedro, who supervises the children's after-school activities, and Sonya, our event planner. You've already met Shatter. Guys, I think you've all seen Clarice at the café.”

“Hi,” Clarice mutters, not looking at anyone. Her usual sass and the ease with which she carries herself at the Underground are completely gone. She takes a large drink of her champagne, as if to give herself courage. John looks around, but he can't see any way to escape with her.

“Clarice, I wanted to ask you about something,” Shatter says, taking pity on her. “I've got a couple of people here who want to come volunteer at the shelter and they'd like to know what it's like, would you mind talking to them?”

Clarice looks at him like a lifeline. “I can do that,” she nods.

She follows Shatter away from the group, only sparing a sorry look toward John for abandoning him so fast. He smiles back at her with a nod.

“She's a bit shy, isn't she?” Sonya remarks. “I hope we didn't scare her away.”

John bites back the sharp comment that comes to his mind, because it wouldn't be fair. He's known Sonya long enough to know that she means well. She just doesn't realize how overwhelming the bunch of them can be to someone who is not used to large groups.

“I think this was just a bit much,” he says instead. “It will be fine once she gets to know you.”

_If she ever shows her face here again_ , John thinks. It doesn't seem very likely. 

Out of curiosity, he extends his reach again to find Clarice, who is now in the middle of the room talking to two young women who look barely out of their teens. John thinks they're in Lorna's class, but he can't come up with their names. Clarice seems talkative again, though not quite at ease, tenseness never leaving her posture.

John stumbles slightly as he lets go of his focus and his legs start to give out under him. He feels Lorna slip her arm around his waist, stabilizing him.

“Hey,” she says in his ear. “You want to go over there? There are chairs.”

John looks around at his friends, who have started chatting among themselves again, not paying attention to him. He nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

Lorna leads him  to a corner of the room where someone has installed a few chairs and a playing mat for the youngest children. There are a  few young parents already around, but they're absorbed in watching their kids play. John gratefully sits down.

Lorna sits backward on a chair in front of him.

“So, what's with Clarice?” she asks.

John shrugs. “Dunno. I guess she's just not great with crowds.”

“She's fine at the café.”

“Maybe it's different. She didn't want to come tonight,” John says.

“So what, you forced her?”

“No. I don't know why she changed her mind.”

Lorna smirks. “She likes you,” she says.

“Does she?” John raises his eyebrows.

“Anyone could see that. You like her too?”

John shrugs.

“You like her too,” Lorna snorts. “I thought so. I told Marcos, but he wouldn't hear it.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves, alright?” John groans. “I don't know if she wants anything more. I don't know if _I_ want anything more.”

Lorna sobers up immediately, before John even realizes how much pain he's put in that statement.

“Sorry,” she says. “I didn't mean−”

“I know you didn't. I'm just not sure that I'm ready to−”

John gestures vaguely, unsure what he's trying to say exactly.  Even whatever he feels for Clarice now, what he hasn't put into words yet, feels like betrayal.

“John, you're allowed to move on,” Lorna says. “I'm sure that's what he'd want for you.”

John  hang s his head , swallowing around the sudden knot in his throat.

“It feels like it's too early,” he says.

Lorna squeezes his hand tightly. “It's not about how much time has passed,” she says.

“I've tried to get on with my life,” John says. “But sometimes… I mean, look at me. I'm still a mess.”

“You're getting better.”

“My legs are getting better. The rest...some days it hurts as much as that first day in the hospital.”

“Maybe you need someone like Clarice to move forward,” Lorna says gently. “Not−not to forget him, but to find something new.”

“It doesn't seem fair, though, to impose that on her. She doesn't deserve this mess.”

Lorna shakes her head in dismay. “John, if she wants to go forward with this, with you, it will be her decision. It's not like you're forcing her into this. And you are _not_ a burden. On anyone.” She insists heavily on the last sentence. John meets her eyes.

“Says the one whose guest room I've been living in for months, for free,” he says doubtfully. “I've been nothing but a burden since I came back, Lorna.”

“No,” Lorna affirms. “You're my friend, and you needed help. And now that you're getting back on your feet, you're going to help me grow and deliver this little one,” she adds, putting a hand on her belly.

Despite his discouragement, John can't help but smile at that.

“I promise I will,” he murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that ending turns out more angst-filled than I meant it to be, but sometimes the characters do their own thing.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading, and please don't hesitate to drop in a comment, I love comments!
> 
> You can also find me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theemmaarthur)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! 
> 
> It starts almost right after the last one ends, I just couldn't wrap up that party in only one chapter.

When John spots Clarice again, the party is starting to wind down. The children's corner is empty, as it's now long past bedtime, and Lorna went back to Marcos and the others when John shooed her off, assuring her that he was fine on his own. Other people, mostly students from his classes, keep coming to chat with him anyway, so it's not like he's really alone.

“So that's where you were hiding,” she says playfully, sitting down in the chair Lorna vacated after turning it around. She grimaces and kicks off her shoes. “High heels are a bitch,” she adds.

John smiles. “ Did you at least have a good time?”

He doesn't mean anything by it, but it brings Clarice up short. “Sorry I reacted that way,” she says. “Your friends must think I'm really impolite.”

“No,” John shakes his head. “I know they can be a lot, you don't have to apologize.”

“I told you I wouldn't fit in.”

“And I still think that's not true. I'm sure you'd get along fine if you got to know each other. Individually, maybe.”

“If you say so,” Clarice shrugs.

John decides to change the subject, feeling her reticence. “So, did you manage to recruit new volunteers for Shatter?”

“I think they'll come for a trial run, at least,” Clarice says, with a proud smile. 

“That's good,” John nods. He doesn't let himself reflect on how much he likes to see Clarice smile. His conversation with Lorna is still on his mind, and he doesn't know what he's going to do.

“So this is where you work?” Clarice asks, looking around her. Now that most of the crowd has filtered out, the room looks less like a party hall.

“Yes,” John says. “Classrooms are over there,” he gestures toward the corridor that leads to his office. “In here we have the youth club from four to seven on school nights and all Saturday afternoon.”

“Isn't that a lot to handle?”

“Not usually. There's always someone to supervise, but the kids are very respectful. A lot of them don't have anywhere else where they feel safe, and they know this place would be shut down at the first accident.”

“What about uncontrollable powers?”

“That's what the classes are for,” John explains. “Abilities sometimes clash, of course, but we try to educate them to use of their powers safely.”

“So you have them do what? Yoga?” Clarice asks, doubtful.

John laughs. “If it helps, yes. But mostly I try to get them to separate their emotions from their abilities, so they can call them up at will instead of trashing the room when they get angry.”

“Trash the room?”

“It's been known to happen. Lorna does some anger management in her self-defense classes.”

“She handles self-defense?” Clarice snorts, surprised.

“She's good at it,” John answers.

“I just would have thought you'd do it, being a Marine and all that.”

John snorts. “Anyone who tries to punch me is more likely to break their hand than to learn anything,” he says. “I can't exactly fight fair.”

“Right. Super-strength,” Clarice says. “I noticed your skin feels...different.”

“My body's about three times as dense as normal. Mostly bullet-proof, too.”

“It sounds...useful, I guess.”

“It can be, when you're in the military.”

“Yes, of course,” Clarice nods like she'd forgotten.

“What about you? Yours is a very rare ability. I've rarely met teleporters.”

“It's not like...snapping my fingers, and poof, like you see on TV.”

“Then what is it like?” John asks.

“Building a portal takes a lot of energy. And I can't go far, or somewhere I can't see.”

“Have you had any training?”

“With whom?” Clarice retorts acerbically. “The foster parents who wanted to hide me forever or those who took me back the minute they got a good look at me?” 

John raises a hand to calm her down.

“You grew up in the foster system?”

Clarice nods, still tense.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to−” John starts.

“No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you.”

“It's fine.”

They smile at each other, a little awkwardly.

“Way to kill a conversation, huh?” Clarice jokes after a while.

John opens his mouth, and closes it with a laugh. Damn, she keeps surprising him.

Clarice shift on her chair. “I should go. I still have to walk home.”

John bites his lip, wishing very hard he could offer to walk her. But he can barely stand as it is, and his car is back at the café since he came in with Lorna.

“It's not far,” Clarice adds, picking up on his hesitation.

She's trying to reassure him, but if anything, John feels even worse. If it was a long walk, he could have found an excuse to ask Lorna or Marcos to give her a ride. Now he'll just look like a selfish guy who won't even walk home a friend he knows has anxiety issues.

Lorna comes to his rescue, once again.

“John, I need help taking down the posters from the message board,” she says, coming up behind him.

“Sure,” John nods, standing up as smoothly as he can manage. He turns back to Clarice. “It's going to take a while, we have to clean up before we close for the night. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Clarice says. “You want help?”

John prepares to decline, but Lorna looks between them and reads the situation, as usual, far too well for John's comfort. “If you offer, but I warn you, it's not gonna the best part of the evening,” she says. “If you stay until we're done, we can drop you at your place on our way home.”

“Thanks!” Clarice chirps. “Where do we start?”

John tries not to limp too much as Lorna leads them to the message board. The three of them work together for a while, rolling up posters.

“I'll go handle the tables and chairs,” Lorna says after a while, with a smug look at John.

Before she's even made it to the middle of the room, the metal chairs have begin stacking up on their own. Marcos is sweeping the floor, and everyone else seems to have left.

“I need to drop these in my office,” John says, gathering the posters and flyers.

“I'll come with you,” Clarice answers. She tries to take some of the rolled-up posters from him, but only manages to knock them out of his hands. They end up on the floor, and both of them laugh.

“Sorry. I'm a klutz,” Clarice says.

“I'm no better,” John admits.

He blinks at the easiness at which he just said that. His clumsiness, born out of having a body he can't feel properly, is something he's usually ashamed of. But with Clarice, everything seems to flow perfectly.

He stands uncomfortably while Clarice picks up the posters, because bending down that far is only going to make him fall. Thankfully, it doesn't last long and he takes the half the rolls from her to bring to his office.

“Here, all done,” he says when all the posters have been stored away in a cabinet drawer. “Thank you for your help.”

He turns back to find Clarice standing right behind him, far too close. With those heels, she's nearly as tall as he is, and their eyes meet.

They would be hard-pressed, later, to say who started it. Clarice is the one who brings their mouths together, but by then John has unconsciously slipped an arm around her back, his other hand holding on to the cabinet tightly so he doesn't stumble. The kiss is sweet and slightly awkward−and then intense and breathless.

John _is_ the one who breaks it, and they stare at each other in wonder.

“That was−”

“I−”

“We−”

Stumbling over their words, they both laugh.

“That was great, and I liked it a lot, but I don't know if I want to−” Clarice says finally. She trails off with a gesture toward the both of them, as if she doesn't know how to qualify it.

“Me neither,” John nods, relieved that they're on the same page. Even if he does decide to follow Lorna's advice and give it a shot, it will have to be slow. “How about...we sit on it until Tuesday after your shift and we talk about it then?”

“Talking sounds good,” Clarice says.

Going back to the main room, sitting in front of Clarice in Lorna's car while they drop her off, like nothing happened is harder than John would have thought. Lorna gives him a long look, but she doesn't comment when John doesn't say a word until they're in the apartment, lost in his thoughts.

He has a lot to think about.

 

The next morning, John tells himself he should have known his body would make him pay for staying on his feet so much. Hell, he did know, and he did it anyway.

He curses last-night-himself through his morning routine, as his legs and back keep spasming. It takes him over half-an-hour more than usual just to shower and dress, and Marcos and Lorna both wince at his limp when he makes it into the kitchen for breakfast. It's Sunday, so the café is closed and they're all off work today.

“You okay?” Marcos asks.

“I'm fine,” John says, dropping onto a chair. “I was on my feet for too long yesterday.”

“It's the third day this week where you can barely stand.”

“I told you I'm fine. Just need to take it easy for today.”

“You were already in pain last night,” Marcos remarks. “You were taking extra pills.”

John throws his hands in the air in annoyance. “Yeah, I was,” he admits. “Happy now?”

Marcos ignores his provocation completely, going down his own train of thoughts.

“Why didn't you at least bring your cane?”

John opens his mouth, ready to retort, then sighs. “I did,” he says honestly. “I just didn't use it.”

It stayed in his office, out of sight, all night long.

“But...why?”

“Because of Clarice,” Lorna interferes before John can think of an answer.

He throws her a dirty look.

“No! I just−didn't want to,” John finishes lamely. Given that both Marcos and Lorna noticed him in more pain than usual last night, it's a completely unbelievable excuse.

“John, no one thinks less of you because you're walking with a cane. We all know what you've been through.”

John stops himself from shouting that that's exactly why he's so sick of everyone's sympathy. They've had one instance or another of this conversation too many times in the last few months.

“Clarice doesn't know,” Lorna states, looking straight at him.

Marcos turns to her with a frown, then back toward John, disapproval in his eyes. “You still haven't told her? Why?”

“I don't know, maybe I just want one person in my life who doesn't treat me like I'm fragile!” John explodes.

“I don't think you're fragile! John, you're the strongest person I know, and not just because of your abilities. But you need to give yourself time to heal!”

“Marcos, it's been eight months. I'm tired of being coddled, okay? So what if I want to enjoy being with someone who doesn't know what happened for a little while?”

Marcos looks at him for a moment, like what he's just said is the most ridiculous thing.

“You'll have to tell her eventually,” he says. “Or she'll find out on her own.”

John sighs. “I know. I will. Just−not yet.”

 

Spending most of the day on the couch leaves John with too much time to think. He pretends to be engrossed in the mutant center's books so that Lorna and Marcos don't notice how much he spaces out, but everything he has on his mind paired with the pain fog means he doesn't get any actual work done.

Clarice is at the forefront of his thoughts. He still has no idea what he's going to tell her on Tuesday. That he enjoyed the kiss but is not ready to start anything with her? He doesn't even know if it's the truth anymore.

If he's honest with himself, his attraction for Clarice has gone past the purely physical stage a while ago. They've already bonded, over hot chocolate and coffee and anxiety issues. They could decide to remain friends and refuse to act on anything else, but John is not sure how long that's going to work.

Their kiss was incredible, enticing and sweet and somehow comfortable. And John didn't stop once to think about how different it was from kissing Gus.

He doesn't know how he feels about that.

Marcos pulls him out of his reflection after a while by coming up behind him.

“You want to go walk Zingo? She's been asking for a while.”

John nods. “In a minute,” he says with a grimace, his hand going automatically to massage his thigh.

Zingo is his dog, technically, Marcos and Lorna got her for him seven months ago when he got out of the hospital, having read about support animals. John has walked her, or at least taken her to the park across the street, every day he's been capable of it since. It gives him a good reason to get out of bed.

He stands up painfully, leaning on furniture to get to the corridor. “I'll be back in ten,” he calls out, retrieving his backup cane and Zingo's leash. She's at his feet in seconds.

“Hey, girl, ready to go out?”

John pulls on his jacket, if only to look like he's dressed for the slightly chilly weather, and limps out the door.

It's raining lightly, so the park is quiet for a Sunday. John drags himself over to a bench, not caring much about getting his clothes wet, and frees Zingo from her leash. She's well trained by now, she knows to come back when he calls her name, to stay away from people, and even not to pull on her leash when John's walking her.

A few runners pass him by, and John watches them with a sort of longing. He hasn't been able to run in a long time. It used to be something he loved, as a kid, running just for the fun of it, for the feel of the wind in his face.

That's another obstacle with Clarice, the things she doesn't know. If they start dating, she'll find everything out. What are the chances she'll run away? Why would she want to be with someone with so much baggage? So many issues?

Is John ready to date again, to date someone who is not Gus? To move on?

By the time he's made a decision, he and Zingo are both soaking wet, and his legs are seizing up. John gives Zingo an ear rub before he reattaches her leash and stands up painfully.

“It's time to go home, girl,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a major development in John and Clarice's relationship, but they're not together yet... John still has to tell her some things about him. Plenty of clues about what that is in this chapter, what do you think?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes a new chapter! More very needed Thunderblink, a little Lorna and Marcos, a deep conversation... Enjoy!

Clarice doesn't know what to expect when she walks into the café on Tuesday morning. She immediately looks for John, because she's been thinking about nothing else since the other night, but he's not there. Shaking her head, she remembers that he usually shows up about an hour into her shift on Tuesdays. The only reason he was there last week when she came in all rattled was that she was late.

Clarice smiles at Marcos and nods at Lorna, who smirks at her, looking far too much like she knows something. Has John told her about their kiss? Or is Clarice seeing things? She's so obsessed with it that it might simply show on her face.

“Had a good weekend?” Lorna asks her, that smirk still at the corner of her lips.

“Quiet,” Clarice answers. “You?”

“Just fine. You recovered from the party?”

Clarice frowns. Does she mean the kiss, does she know about it? Or just staying up late? Or… Could she be making fun at Clarice's social blunder with their group of friends?

“I−” she starts, wringing her hands in discomfort as much as annoyance.

“Relax,” Lorna raises her hands. “I didn't mean anything by it. Just that you seemed a bit flustered when we dropped you off.”

“Oh. I'm just not really used to parties,” Clarice says. It's not a lie if she just leaves out how it ended, right?

Lorna nods, though doubtfully. “You didn't go out, wherever you lived before?”

“It's been a while since I've been in a place where I can−” Clarice gestures toward her face. She's not sure why she's sharing this with Lorna. They aren't friends, not like with Marcos, and Lorna often comes off as cold and uncaring. Clarice is pretty sure by now that it's a mask, but she has no reason to trust her.

“I see,” Lorna says. She softens a bit, leaning against the counter. “That's where your anxiety comes from?”

“John told you that?”

“No. It wasn't hard to figure out.”

Clarice swallows. “I don't really want to talk about it,” she says.

“Okay. Just know that there are plenty of people around here who've been through the same thing at one point or another. If you need someone to talk to.”

“Like you?” Clarice asks on a whim.

“Passing as human is not as hard for me,” Lorna says, playing with a strand of green hair. “But the mental health stuff...I've had my fair share. And being shunned because of it too.”

Clarice nods. She hasn't missed Lorna's intensity, the strength of her emotions, the way she carries herself. The way everyone shies away from her, just a little. She'd thought it might just be her pregnancy, but there's obviously more.

A few patrons come in, and the two women have to stop talking to take their orders. Clarice can feel Lorna's eyes on her for a while, but soon they settle into their work.

 

Even after John walks in, still limping slightly, the day goes at a snail's pace for Clarice. She watches him out of the corner of her eyes, seemingly perfectly calm and composed in front of his computer. He doesn't give anything away, but he smiles at her when their eyes meet. Clarice doesn't know what that means for the conversation they're supposed to have later.

She's agonized all weekend over the kiss they shared, and the talk they promised each other. She liked the kiss. There's no way around that. But she also hasn't had a relationship since her last crappy boyfriend left her running from a bunch of Purifiers while they burned her car.

And then there are all the crappy boyfriends she's had before that. She doesn't have a great track record. John is nothing like anyone she's ever dated, but that makes her worry more, not less. At least familiar is comforting. This is a jump into the unknown.

But maybe, she keeps thinking as she watches him interact with different people who come to see him at his table throughout the day, maybe it's a jump she's willing to take.

John joins her in the backroom on her lunch break, but Marcos is there too. Clarice and John look at each other uncomfortably and try to pretend everything is normal.

“So, Clarice, what did you think of the center?” Marcos asks, oblivious.

“It seems great for the mutant kids,” Clarice answers with a shrug. The center is honestly one of the best places for mutants she ever seen, especially if what John has told her about it is true, but she's not ready to admit it.

“For some of them, it's the only place they feel safe,” John nods.

“I can imagine,” Clarice says.

John glances at her, as if reading more into her words than she meant to share, but he doesn't comment. Clarice doesn't meet his eyes. She suddenly wonders what it might have been like, to have someone like John as a teacher when she was a teenager being bounced from foster home to foster home.

She shakes her head to get rid of the thought. It's far too late for her. Maybe that's why she feels so uncomfortable in the center, maybe it's resentment that she didn't get that as a kid. Maybe she's jealous of the children.

“It's a safe place for adults, too,” John says. There's something different in his tone, like he's got a glimpse of her thoughts. Maybe he has. He's so perceptive that Clarice still isn't sure he isn't a telepath.

“That's good,” she nods vaguely.

“I'll get back to work,” Marcos stands up, now the one who's uncomfortable. “You guys need anything?”

“I'm good,” Clarice says, also standing. However much she wants to have that conversation John promised her, now is not a good time when she has ten minutes left on her break, and she doesn't want to spend them in awkward silence either. She smiles at John to soften her abrupt departure, while he's still eating his lunch. He laughs back at her, silently, like he knows exactly what's on her mind.

Hell, he probably does.

 

Clarice feels both Lorna and Marcos's eyes on her as she goes straight to John's table at the end of her shift. She'd like to say she doesn't care what they think, but it would be lying. Yet right at this moment, she's not concerned about them.

John looks up at her when she sits down and smiles.

“You done for the day?” he asks her.

“Yes. You ready to talk?” Clarice asks, giving up all pretense that it hasn't been weighting on her mind.

John laughs. “I did promise you that, didn't I?”

“You did.”

“So...that kiss.”

They look at each other in embarrassment for a second, and burst out laughing.

“This is awkward,” Clarice says.

“It is,” John nods. “I guess we need to figure out if we want to go any further.”

“I'm...” Clarice hesitates, but she can't hold it in anymore. “Okay, I'll go first. I've thought about it a lot, and I think I'd like to try, but I have baggage, and then there's the anxiety thing, and my last relationship didn't end well, and it would also be totally fine if you didn't want to go further and I would completely understand,” she rambles, too fast, so fast that she runs out of breath.

“Wow,” John stops her. “I'm, uh...I'm really glad you...but−” he hesitates.

“You don't want to,” Clarice states, disappointed. She's almost angry he let her simmer all day just to tell her that.

“No, wait, I do! I think. It's complicated.”

“How complicated can it be?”

John sighs. “You said something about baggage? Well, I have plenty of my own. And, uh...before we make any kind of decision, there are things you need to know.”

“Okay,” Clarice says doubtfully, hoping he's not leading her on. But her heart says he's not, and the anguished look on his face tugs at her.

John looks around him. “Not here,” he says. “Would you be okay with going up to the apartment?”

“Are you inviting me to your place?” Clarice raises an eyebrow, more in humor than flirting, but the implication is there.

“It's more Marcos and Lorna's place than mine, I'm just borrowing their guest room,” John says. “But they're working here until six, and I don't think they'll mind.”

“Okay then.”

John closes his laptop and puts it and his papers back into his backpack. “Come on,” he says, standing up.

Clarice follows him through the back room and into the building's lobby beyond it. She's surprised that John leads them straight to the elevator and not the stairs, since she knows the apartment is just above the café on the second floor, but she doesn't comment on it. She has noticed him limping several times in the last few days, after all. Maybe he's got a knee injury or something.

John unlocks the first door of the corridor, and he's immediately attacked by a large black and white dog.

“Hey, girl,” he says, petting the dog's head, trying to get her off him. “This is Zingo,” he tells Clarice.

“Hello, Zingo,” Clarice smiles, extending her hand to pet her as well. The young dog is feisty and adorable, with her long ears falling around her face.

“You like dogs?” John asks.

“Isn't that a first date question?” Clarice asks playfully.

“Or a question to ask a friend I want to know better,” John answers more seriously.

“Then yes, I like dogs,” Clarice says. She doesn't know what to make of it, if John is trying to tell her he doesn't want to be more than friends, but she doesn't ask. He obviously has something he wants to talk about first, so she'll hear him out.

“Good. Zingo will leave you alone if I ask her, but she likes to play.”

“She's yours?”

“Yes,” John nods, putting down his backpack by the door. “Let's go sit over there,” he indicates the living room table.

 

John watches Clarice sit carefully, a little uncomfortable in the strange environment.

“You want to drink anything? Coffee?” he asks.

“I had four coffees today, so I don't think that's a great idea,” Clarice says.

“Tea? Soda? We threw out the beers when Lorna learned she was pregnant.”

“No, I'm good. But you can get yourself something if you want.”

John gets a can of soda from the fridge, if only to give himself something to fidget with. It also gives him the opportunity to turn away from Clarice and breathe through his panic.

He made the decision to tell her everything two days ago, after Marcos scolded him, but he's gone back and forth on it a hundred times since. What if Clarice runs away? What if she can't stand the thought of dating someone that's so much trouble? He'd rather be friends with her and keep hiding this from her.

Even if she takes it well, how much should he tell her? Some of it is inevitable, but some still makes him choke up every time he thinks about it. Is he ready to spill it out to a near stranger?

She did. Clarice trusted him enough, for some reason, to tell him about her anxiety, to talk about private things with him, when they barely know each other. It's only fair that John returns the favor, regardless of whether they decide to pursue a relationship.

Taking a deep breath, he sits down, opening his soda, and looks up into Clarice's eyes.

“The other day, you noticed I was limping,” he starts.

Clarice frowns, confused. “Yes, but−”

“I didn't lie to you when I said it's from an old injury acting up. Except that it's not very old. And it has a...story attached to it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I told you I was discharged from the Marines eight months ago,” John says slowly. “I didn't tell you why.”

“John, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to−”

“I want to. It's just...complicated. Please just let me talk?”

“Of course,” Clarice nods.

“I did two tours in Afghanistan, and I got...injured over there.”

“I thought your power−”

“I'm not invincible, just harder to hurt. It was an IED. My unit and I, we walked right into a trap. I-I led my brothers onto a bomb.”

“John−”

“The minute we went in, they didn't have a chance of making it out. I only lived because...well, I'm really hard to kill, and I wasn't inside when it went off. I'm the only one who survived.”

John looks up, away from Clarice, to keep the tears filling his eyes from coming out. The knot in his throat is almost too big to get the words out.

He's talked about it a hundred times with his therapist, he's far from where he was at the beginning when he couldn't even think about it without slipping right into a flashback. He can still see it, the explosion, the screams, but it's only a memory.

It's easier, in a way, to talk to Clarice. In the eyes of the people who knew him before, Marcos and Lorna and his friends at the center, he can see nothing but pity. Clarice is compassionate, understanding, but she doesn't feel sorry for him. It's refreshing.

She also understands instinctively when to speak, and when to wait for him to get his emotions under control.

“There was another unit on the way, and they pulled me out,” he manages to say after swallowing. “I woke up in the field hospital about a day later. They were getting ready to evacuate me.”

“You were badly hurt?” Clarice asks softly.

“I had my back to the building when it went up, and I got hit by a lot of shrapnel. It was complicated by the fact that my body is too dense for any kind of surgery, so they couldn't get it all out. And, uh...I had a piece of metal embedded in my spine.”

“Oh,” Clarice frowns, obviously trying to reconcile whatever she knows about spine injuries with what she's seen of John. “What does that mean?”

John doesn't look at her when he answers. “There was some damage to my spinal cord, so I couldn't move my legs.”

“You were paralyzed?” Clarice asks, shocked.

“Yeah. I started physio as soon as the swelling went down enough, and I was really lucky 'cause I got some function back pretty quickly, but everything else takes a while. I'm still going there three times a week, still wearing leg braces to help me walk. That's why I haven't looked for a job yet.”

“I was wondering about that,” Clarice says slowly, trying to process the rest of it. “Can I ask...you said braces?”

John nods and bends down to take off one of his boots. Lifting up his pant leg, he shows her the thermoplastic brace on his lower leg.

“And that helps?” Clarice asks. She still looks bewildered, overwhelmed by too much information.

“I don't walk very well without them,” John says. “I was still mostly using crutches six weeks ago.”

“Not long before we met,” Clarice says. “How did I miss it completely?”

“You weren't looking. And I didn't show you. I guess I enjoyed having one person who didn't see me as disabled first.”

“But it's...temporary, right?” Clarice hesitates. “You're recovering?”

John sighs. “It's a bit more complicated than that. I was making good progress before, but it's been slowing down. I don't know if I'll walk completely unaided again, but it's unlikely. And even if I do, I still have about two pounds of shrapnel in my back, including some around my spine, so it's always going to give me trouble.”

Clarice nods slowly. “Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

“For what?” John frowns.

“For telling me.”

She actually sounds grateful, not about to run away. John thinks about everything he _hasn't_ told her yet, and the weight that was starting to lift from his stomach comes back full force.

“You said I should hear this before we made a decision,” Clarice says after a while. “But you know it doesn't make a difference, right?”

“How can it not?” John asks, surprised.

“Did you think I would think less of you because of it?” Clarice asks back.

John sighs. “I don't know. Maybe not the...disability part, although some people do. But−”

“All I've learned is that you're even braver and stronger than I suspected,” Clarice interrupts him.

John shakes his head. “I'm not. Not really. There's other stuff you don't know yet.”

“Do you want to tell me?”

“I don't think I can,” John chokes out. “Not right now.”

Clarice watches him as he tries to rein everything in once more.

“John...I know we haven't decided yet, not really, but...can I hug you?”

John looks up in shock, unable to answer. Clarice stands up and comes closer, holding out her hand. He takes it and stands up in turn, and suddenly finds himself with purple hair in his face and a hundred-something pounds of Clarice in his arms. He sighs softly, closing his arms around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this rather pivotal chapter. So John was a stubborn fool for thinking that Clarice would reject him over his history and disability... but what is it that he still hasn't told her?  
> Please tell me what you thought!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for eveningspirit, without whom it wouldn't have seen the light of day (or been abysmally terrible). Thank you for helping me figure things out.

“Okay. It's time to cough it up, brother.”

“What?” John frowns, dragged brutally out of his musings.

“John, you've been distracted and in a weird mood ever since yesterday,” Marcos says. “And don't think we didn't notice you bringing Clarice up here.”

John sighs and looks over to Lorna, who just nods encouragingly.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Not much. We talked, and we're going on a date on Friday.”

“That sounds like good news to me. So why are you so hesitant?”

“I...I told her about my legs,” John says slowly.

“Did she say something? Because if she did, I swear I'll−”

John doesn't know whether to touched or annoyed by Lorna's protectiveness. He settles for amused, giving her a small smile before answering.

“No, it's not that. She was fine. Better than fine.”

“Then what's wrong?” Marcos asks.

“I didn't tell her about Pulse.”

“You wanted to tell her? Isn't it a bit early? I mean, we know it's still hard for you to−”

“Exactly. I feel like if I want to date her, I need to be upfront about all of it.”

“So you're going to drop on her, at the same time, that your last relationship was with a man, that he died in the explosion that paralyzed you, and that you still regularly destroy half your room in your sleep because of it?”

John looks away. “I suppose when you say it like that, it's a bit much,” he says, reining in his emotions at the mention of Gus.

“Maybe she doesn't need to know every little thing about your past _before_ you start dating.”

“Pulse isn't a little thing,” Lorna says, before John can even react to that.

“No, of course not, I didn't mean that, but−”

“It's not a very good first-date topic,” John states.

Thinking about Pulse doesn't hurt as much as it used to, he can even smile at the good memories now. Marcos and Lorna knew Pulse for long enough that John knows they're not belittling him even when they tentatively joke about him.

Talking about his death, about the bomb John led him onto, is another matter entirely. That's why John left him out of the story he told Clarice. It was enough of a sob-story as it was, honestly, but John just couldn't add Pulse in it without completely losing his composure.

“I guess I could...wait. But I'll have to tell her at some point, and it just feels like...like I'm not being honest, you know?”

“John, is it because you feel like you're betraying Pulse by going out with Clarice?” Lorna asks, putting her hand on his.

John opens his mouth to deny it, but closes it again. Is it? Does he somehow want Clarice's approval of what he's doing because he can't get Pulse's?

“It's okay to be ambivalent about this, you know. You're allowed to not know right away what you're okay with or not.”

John hangs his head. “I don't want to forget him,” he says.

“You're not going to forget him,” Lorna says softly. “You never will.”

“I know, but−”

“You're not betraying him by _living_. By getting better.”

Sighing, John covers his face with his hands. He still feels, some days, like time should have stopped the day Pulse died. Like life can't be going on, not without him.

And some days, lately, he finds himself feeling grateful that he's still alive, that he survived. And those days, he hates that he's starting to move on.

 

 

The days leading up to their planned date are both sweet and awkward. John spends his days in the café as usual, after his morning appointments at the hospital, and Clarice is always there when he comes in, looking more and more relaxed with Marcos and Lorna and even with the regular patrons. She's almost part of the Underground family now.

There are the little looks and smiles they exchange whenever Clarice comes close to his table, or he looks up at the right moment. But there's also the way John feels even more self conscious than before every time he stands up, not missing Clarice's gaze on him. Now that she knows, is she waiting for him to stumble? Or using his gait to gauge his pain levels, the way Lorna and Marcos have learned to do?

John asks both Lorna and Marcos to keep quiet that they know about the date. He doesn't want Clarice to feel pressured to perform one way or another, to feel like her job here is in any way linked to how it turns out. He catches Lorna giving Clarice long looks behind her back, but she seems to manage to hold her tongue, so John decides not to call her out. He's not sure he wants to have yet another conversation with her about this.

John and Clarice sit together for lunch every day. They haven't kissed again, or even touched each other since the hug Clarice gave him, but they talk about everything and nothing comfortably. They don't come close to heavy subjects, since Marcos or Lorna are always somewhere close, but it's nice to get to know each other like this.

On Friday, John waits for Clarice in the back room for her lunch break, taking advantage of Lorna's absence.

“I made reservations for tonight,” he says when she walks in. “You're still on?”

Clarice drops onto a chair.

“Of course! Where?”

“This restaurant Marcos and Lorna like. It's not far, but we'll need to drive there. Should I pick you up at your place?”

“Um, yeah, sure. I'll be ready,” Clarice smiles.

“I'm going to need an address for that, though,” John says.

Clarice laughs, embarrassed. “Right. Let me write it down for you.”

 

Clarice is fretting far too much by the time John is supposed to pick her up. She's spent the whole time since coming back home trying to decide on an outfit−not too smart or overly sexy, because that's not what their relationship feels like yet, but she wants to feel pretty. And that's a sore point.

No amount of make-up can make her feel good about her face, since, paradoxically, trying to hide her marks just makes her feel untrue to herself. Her unending love-hate relationship with her appearance has lead her to do many things she regrets.

And John doesn't look at her like other men do. The boyfriends she had before either claimed they found her pretty _in spite_ of her atypical appearance, or had a fascination for visible mutations that always turned unhealthy, one way or another. John hasn't made her feel like a zoo animal or someone to be pitied, and she already loves that about him.

And she hates that her bar is so low. John seems like a truly good man, but only time will tell if he turns out to be just like everyone else. Clarice really hopes he doesn't, but she's long learned not to trusts her instincts on this.

Her intercom buzzes at this point of her reflection and she scrambles to answer it.

“Yes?”

“It's me,” John's voice says, in between the crackles of low quality sound.

“I'm coming down,” Clarice says. “Just give me a minute.”

Hanging up, she takes a few deep breaths and grabs her purse and her coat. Checking that she has her keys and her sunglasses with her doesn't take long enough for her to calm down, but this is just nerves, not real anxiety.

John is waiting by the building's entrance, leaning against the wall. Clarice grimaces briefly that she unthinkingly made him wait standing up−she has no idea if it's painful or hard for him. She tried to do some research on spine injuries after what he told him the other day, but she quickly got lost in the sea of incomprehensible medical information.

He's wearing a shirt and a jacket, a step up above his usual tee-shirts and leather vest, but no tie. Clarice is glad that she read the unspoken dress code for the evening right.

“Hi,” he smiles when she pushes the door open.

“Hi back,” Clarice answers.

“You look nice.”

Clarice looks down at herself briefly. This is just the regular niceties of first dates, she knows, but John actually sounds like he means it. Her knee length dress is nothing special, but it's one that she likes. She forbids herself from checking if her ears are properly covered by her hair.

“You too,” she says. And she does mean it. John would look good wearing anything, but he obviously made an effort, tying back his hair in a neat bun. He's still wearing combat boots even with smarter pants, but Clarice can guess there aren't so many shoes he can wear with his leg braces.

“You ready?”

Clarice nods and smiles. She hesitates to put on her sunglasses for a moment, but it's late enough that she can't justify it with the sunlight, and it's not like she's going to be able to keep them on all night long. She'll just have to do without and pray that everything goes well.

“My car is just over there,” John says, indicating a black sedan parked in front of the building.

Clarice slides into the passenger seat, trying not to look around her too obviously. She doesn't know what kind of car she expected John to have, but it's not that−Lorna, for some reason, drives a large SUV, and she probably imagined something similar.

There are a few things on the driver's side that she doesn't recognize, though. The steering wheel has a sort of ball affixed to it, and there's a second stick beside the gear stick.

“What is this?” she asks, pointing to it.

“Hand controls,” John answers, not quite looking at her. “I can't use pedals well.”

“Oh. I'd never seen that.”

“You can have a look if you want.”

Clarice bends over to see the system of rods that connect the stick to the pedals−coming very close to John in the process, though not quite touching him. She sits back up a little flustered.

“So, how does it work, you can do everything with that?” she asks to cover it up.

“Pull for gas, push to brake, steer with one hand,” John answers. “It's pretty easy to learn.”

“You've been driving with this since−”

John shakes his head. “Not at first, but Marcos and Lorna got tired of driving me to PT every day after a couple of months. That's when we looked into it.”

Clarice can't help observing him drive, though she can tell it makes him uncomfortable. “I'm just curious,” she says, trying to reassure him.

“I know, it's fine,” John says. “I haven't really taken anyone for a ride beside Marcos and Lorna, so it's new for me too.”

As John promised, the restaurant isn't far, and they get there within a few minutes. It's a fairly small place, and the waiter, after a short moment of hesitation when he sees Clarice, leads them past several seated couples to their table. Clarice wonders if John notices the curious and fearful looks they attract−or rather she, and her exposed eyes, attracts.

John gentlemanly takes her coat and pulls out her chair. He takes the seat with his back to the wall, and his eyes dart around in a way that tell Clarice it's not a random choice. She hates having her back to people too and briefly wishes they could both face the room, but she realizes it would mean being even more conscious of the way people are looking at her.

John smiles at her, but she has a hard time smiling back, feeling the eyes on her back.

“Are you okay?” John asks.

Clarice nods a little too fast. “This seems like a nice place,” she says.

John frowns, but lets it go. “I haven't been here in a while. Last time it was a different owner, but I think the cook is the same, and her food is amazing.”

“So why not come more often?” Clarice asks the first thing that comes through her mind. Her anxiety has risen enough now that all she wants is to get out of here, but she tries to calm herself down for John. A few looks shouldn't spoil their night.

“It's not accessible,” John answers. “But mostly I didn't have anyone to bring.”

Clarice smiles at him distractedly.

“Clarice,” John tries to meet her eyes. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Clarice lies.

The waiter comes back with menus, saving her from having to convince him. “Will you want an appetizer?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” John answers. “What do you want to drink?” he asks Clarice.

“Whatever you're having,” Clarice says, shrugging.

She doesn't listen as he orders, instead turning her head to catch the eyes burning into her back. The woman, two tables over, glares at her for a moment before she turns away, making a rude gesture. Clarice freezes.

She looks back at John when he puts a hand on her arm. “Clarice?”

“I'm sorry,” she says. “You were saying?”

“I didn't say anything,” John says. “You just seem distracted.”

“Sorry. I'm fine.”

John looks unconvinced. “If you don't like this place, we can go,” he says. “Same if you've changed your mind about us. The last thing I want is to force you into anything.”

Clarice shakes her head hurriedly. “No, it's not about us,” she exclaims. “I want this. I told you.”

“Then what?”

“I feel like...people are looking at me.”

John sighs. “I noticed. I'm sorry.”

“Me too,” Clarice mutters. “But I'll try to ignore them.”

That mostly works through getting their appetizers, talking lightly about the café and how John came to start doing the books.

“Marcos is just hopeless at math,” John says. “He was doing such an awful job that the café had only been opened for five months and they were already lost.”

“And Lorna?”

“She was actually the best in her math and physics class at school, even started studying engineering, but she just doesn't care. If she finds something boring, there's no way to make her do it.”

“She's something else, isn't she?” Clarice laughs.

“That she is,” John answers.

“Why did she stop her studies?”

John hesitates. “It's not my story to tell,” he says.

“Oh.”

Does it have to do with the mental health issues she mentioned to Clarice the other day? She won't pester John for details if he's not comfortable talking about it, but she doesn't think she'll dare ask Lorna outright, either. Well, it's none of her business, anyway.

She looks down at her menu instead, still trying to decide what to get. She doesn't want to get something too expensive. John hasn't said explicitly whether he intends to invite her, but even if he does, she has no idea how he earns a living−is he on some sort of disability pension?−but he must not be making much more than she does. But going for the cheapest option would be too obvious, and in any case she hates shrimp.

She's finally starting to relax into the moment, almost forgetting the woman still glaring at her back. Except that things start to go pear-shaped when the waiter comes back, without an order pad, looking highly uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, which I don't do too often, but that date grew long enough for two chapters. So you'll have to wait until next week to find out what happened.
> 
> In the meantime, please tell me what you thought!
> 
> Reminder that you can find me on Tumblr [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theemmaarthur), where I post writing updates and thoughts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [description of a panic attack, discrimination (based on mutant status), mentions of PTSD]
> 
> The second part of that date! Something went wrong at the end of last chapter...

The waiter approaches them with enough embarrassment, his pad still tucked away in his pocket, that Clarice immediately knows something's wrong.

“I'm really sorry,” he says, “but I have to ask you to leave. We won't be able to serve you.”

“What?” John reacts. “Why?”

Clarice stays frozen, embarrassed beyond belief. She knows, just as much as John does, what this is about. It's not the first time it's happened to her, but it never gets any easier.

“I'm sorry. We just...well, several people complained, and we would rather not have any problems.”

“Complained about what?” John pushes.

“I...I believe they said you were being a...disturbance.”

“Because we're mutants,” Clarice states in a whisper.

The waiter stares at John for a moment, as if just realizing that he could be a mutant as well.

“So you're going to kick us out, just like that?” John heats up. “Because people _complained_ about what we are?”

“I'm just trying to resolve the situation in the best possible way,” the man answers, too fast.

“With discrimination. Right, that sounds like the best way,” John says sarcastically.

“Please don't make a fuss−”

“You know there are actual laws against this, right?”

“John,” Clarice says, putting a hand on his arm. She shakes her head when he looks at her. She just wants to disappear in a hole in the ground now, not argue with bigots.

“We have the right to refuse service to anyone−”

“That's not how it works!”

“John!” Clarice calls again. “We'll just go. It's not like we'll enjoy our meal now.”

The waiter just nods and stands back, clearly relieved. Clarice realizes that she's so tense that her hand around her glass is probably close to breaking it. She lets go slowly, only to make a fist and dig her nails into her palm instead.

“I'll go talk to them,” John says angrily, waving toward the couple still giving them dark looks.

“No, please don't. Let's just leave.”

John opens his mouth to argue, but he must pick up on something in her face, because he relents. “Alright, let's go,” he says, standing up.

Clarice's hands are shaking when she grabs her coat. John slowly and deliberately puts a few bills on the table for the appetizer, making sure to glare at the waiter, and, even more, at the people surrounding them while he does it, but he never even hints at a violent gesture. Clarice isn't sure if that's for her benefit, because he understands that brutality could trigger her so easily right now, or if he normally has that much control on himself, but she isn't in a state to figure it out right now.

John lets her go first through the door, keeping her head down, and follows her closely, protectively, though never touching her. Clarice makes a beeline for John's car, but she has to wait for him to get in, as he struggles to both walk at her pace and get his keys out of his pocket.

“Sorry,” he says, finally unlocking the car.

Hopping in, Clarice shakes her head furiously. She can't seem to talk, but she doesn't want him to feel guilty about this.

It's only when she stops moving that she realizes that she's not breathing properly, that the world is swimming around her. Gasping, she folds in half, her head pulsing along with her heart.

“Clarice?” John asks in a frenzy, hurriedly getting into the driver's seat. “Okay, it's okay, we're out now. It's over.”

But it's not over, is it? Maybe the people from the restaurant aren't going to come out and mob them, but they just got kicked out of a restaurant because of her. On their first−only−date, for God's sake. How is John even still here? How is he watching her with concern right now, and not disgust? There's no way he's going to want to be her friend now, let alone keep going with their relationship. Greg certainly didn't stick around.

She feels like she's betraying John. He opened up to her the other day, gave her a piece of his life that's hard for him to talk about, and this is how she repays him?

“Clarice?”

She lets out a sob.

John is leaning toward her, still not quite touching her, his arms carefully up and open where she can see them. “Can I touch you?”

Clarice shakes her head. She doesn't think she can handle it. John is so sweet, so gentle. She can't take his gentleness and then have it taken away.

“Okay. I won't touch you, okay? But you're panicking, so I want you to breathe with me. In. Out,” he demonstrates.

Clarice tries. She really does, but the sight of John, even at the corner of her eyes as she's still bent over, is distracting. Is he going to take her back to her place and leave? Or will he pretend nothing's happened and just push her away slowly, until even their friendship is just a memory?

“Clarice. Please, you don't have to talk, but try to do this with me. Focus. Think of five things you can see.”

In. The dashboard. John's hair. Her shaking hands. Out. John's strong arms. She doesn't want to look outside the car. John's leather bracelet.

“Okay, good, you're doing good. Now five things you can hear.”

John's voice. In. Hearing is harder, there's not much in the car. Her panicked breathing. Out. In. John's calm breathing, voluntarily exaggerated to give her a baseline. In. Out.

“There you are. You're doing great, Clarice. Once more, okay? In. Out.”

Finally, she manages to synchronize her breathing to his. Her head is still swimming, but she's not desperate for oxygen any longer. She leans back into her seat, exhausted.

“Do you feel better?” John asks after a while.

Clarice's breathing picks up again immediately. Is this where he's going to tell her to get out of the car and walk home? No, he's too much of a gentleman, he's going to drive her back and then tell her he doesn't want to see her again. Does that mean her job at the Underground will be in jeopardy? Marcos is a great guy, but he's John friend first. And oh God, why did she think of that before she got involved with John? What is she going to do now?

“Hey, hey! You're spinning out again, what did I say?”

Clarice snaps back to the present, but she's frozen, unable to answer.

“Clarice, breathe. Breathe with me again, okay? In. Out.”

It takes even longer this time until she doesn't feel like she's suffocating anymore. John carefully doesn't ask anymore questions, leaving her to calm down on her own. It doesn't prevent her from harping on the same thoughts over and over again, but they get less pressing, less pervasive after a while.

She realizes they're still parked in front of the restaurant.

“Can we get out of here?” she asks in a small voice.

“Of course,” John says. He doesn't ask where he should go, just starts the car.

Clarice stares right ahead the whole drive, but she doesn't pay any attention to where they're going, so she's surprised when John pulls up in front of the mutant center.

“Why here?” she asks.

John stops the car and turns toward her fully. “I don't think you should be alone right now, but it seems a bit early to invite myself to your place, and Marcos and Lorna are back at the apartment. This is the only place I could think of. It's closed, it should be empty by now.”

He bites his lip when Clarice struggles to answer. “But if you want me to take you home and leave you alone, I will,” he adds.

Clarice hesitates. She still doesn't know if he really wants to be with her or if he's just trying to do the right thing. She's not looking forward to a night−and a weekend−of dwelling on her anxiety and this disaster of a date, but she doesn't want to get her hopes up only to be disappointed either.

But John looks so concerned, so eager to help, that she relents. “Here is good,” she says.

John smiles at her sweetly. “Come on, then.”

John leads them inside, and all the way to a room beside his office marked 'Staff Room'. It has a table and a couch area inside, as well as a kitchenette. “This is where we go between classes,” John tells her. “We'll be better here than in my office.”

Clarice drops on a couch, feeling the fatigue that always comes after a panic attack dawn onto her. She's still not sure what she's doing here, but John just sits down in an armchair, with more decorum but also obvious relief.

“Do you want to order some food in? We didn't get to eat, after all.”

Clarice feels a blush creep up on her cheeks at the way he so casually talks about them getting kicked out of the restaurant.

“I'm not hungry,” she says.

“Neither am I, really,” John admits. “But we probably shouldn't just skip a meal, right?”

“Right.”

“What would you like? Pizza? I know a good place.”

“Okay,” Clarice nods sheepishly. She's not sure she'll be able to eat at all when it gets there, but it seems important to John. Mundane concerns such as food seem very far from her right now. As John places the order, she watches him and wonders again why he's doing this for her. He could be back home by now with his friends, chilling in front of a movie or something. But no. He's here with her. Ordering a pizza because she told him it's one of her guilty pleasures.

“You don't have to stay with me, you know,” she says, not looking at him.

“I know,” John answers. “But I'm the one who chose an anti-mutant restaurant and got us into this mess.”

“What? No, that's not your fault!” Clarice exclaims, almost falling down the edge of the couch in surprise. “I'm the one who got us kicked out!”

“Clarice,” John bites his lip. “You didn't get us kicked out. Those bigots did. It's not you.”

Clarice shakes her head. If John had been with with someone else, like Sonya, no one would have bothered him. She's the one who always brings trouble with her everywhere she goes.

“Look at it like this,” John says. “Maybe I can pass for human, most of the time, but once they know, they hate me just as much. Nothing is going to change that.”

“You don't get kicked out,” Clarice mutters.

“And what if they'd kicked us out because I'm Apache?” John asks.

“But they didn't!”

“It's happened before,” he shrugs. “All I'm saying is: you can't feel guilty for that. If you do, then they've won.”

“Of course they've won. They get to enjoy their dinner knowing that we won't.”

“And you're gonna give them even more pleasure by feeling bad?”

Clarice shrugs and folds herself into the couch, almost sulking. She knows he's right. Giving bigots power over her is the worst thing she can do.

“Look, we won't get the nice date night that we planned, and I'm sorry about that,” John says. “But...do you want to try to enjoy this...pizza and chilling in the staff room...thing and stuff it in their faces?”

Clarice stares at John for a moment, thrown off balance. She blinks, then lets out an involuntary snort, covering her hand with her mouth.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

“Absolutely.”

Clarice feels a smile spread on her face against her will. Frowning, she schools her features again. “We could...try, I suppose,” she says.

“Then I'll go get that pizza and we can go on with our evening,” John says, standing up. Just as he makes for the door, someone rings the doorbell. She widens her eyes, bewildered, then realizes John probably heard the delivery person arrive thanks to his mutation.

In the time it takes John to open the door and pay for the pizza, Clarice tries hard to relax on the couch. She's still shaken and tense, her breaths are too shallow and her eyes feel gritty from tearing up. She quickly checks with her phone's screen that her makeup hasn't run, and winces at how drawn she looks.

John hesitates for a moment when he comes back, putting the flat box on the low table.

“May I−” he gestures to the empty space beside her.

Clarice looks up at him and nods, trying to hide her surprise. She's never known a man so careful to ask for her permission before, especially for something as mundane as sitting beside her.

John sits down a little stiffly on the couch, not touching her, his hand going to massage his thigh discreetly. He bends down to open the pizza box.

“Is it okay like this?” he asks. “I can try to find some plates if you want.”

“It's fine,” Clarice answers, almost too fast. She can see his reluctance to get up again, even though he tries to hide it. She still feels guilty for almost making him run to the car earlier.

“Okay,” John shrugs. “Should we eat, then?”

“Are you not going to bring up my...freaking crying fit at all?” Clarice breaks down. She's been waiting for him to say something for too long. She made a fool of herself in front of him, is he just going to pretend it never happened?

“I know what a panic attack looks like,” John says. “And no, I wasn't going to. We can talk about it, but only if you want to.”

Clarice sighs in frustration and hides her face in her hands. “I just feel so...ridiculous. For over-reacting like that. You shouldn't have had to see that.”

“Hey, Clarice,” John says, gently pulling at her arms to get her to look at him. “You didn't over-react. What happened tonight was...wrong. And scary. Don't beat yourself up for reacting like that.”

“You handled it just fine,” Clarice mutters.

John actually laughs. “My shrink would say that's because she's done a good job,” he says.

“Your shrink?”

“I didn't come back from overseas with just useless legs and scars on my back.”

Clarice bites her lip and looks at him, but he doesn't fully meet her eyes.

“PTSD?” she asks.

John nods. “Different triggers. Different reactions. But it's the same, really.”

“You told me, the other day,” Clarice realizes. “I didn't−”

That day when she came into the café so rattled, she was too focused on herself and her misery to register what John shared. It was before the party, before their kiss. A lifetime ago, it feels like.

“I know,” John says. “It doesn't matter.”

Deliberately slow, he bridges the gap between them. Clarice hadn't realized how close they'd come to sit, but her hand instinctively goes to his neck when their mouths meet.

John vaguely tastes like the appetizer cocktail he sipped at the restaurant, but more than that, Clarice notices what she missed the first time. The way his mouth and tongue feel harder than skin, like stone, like his hands. Not enough to hurt, to be uncomfortable, but different. Unique.

When they pull apart, Clarice bites her swollen lip playfully.

“So how about we eat that pizza before it's completely cold?” she smirks.

John groans wordlessly and pulls her closer again. Clarice doesn't protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John and Clarice didn't get to enjoy their nice date at the restaurant, but they got this instead. Did you enjoy this chapter?
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment if you did!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorna and Marcos learn about the date and the restaurant, and John and Clarice have to deal with the fallout.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Lorna, the restaurant's probably not even open at this hour,” John says, warily watching Lorna pace up and down the length of their living room.

“I don't care, I'm calling them right now. I'd have done it last night if you'd told me!”

“You were in bed when I got back here.”

Lorna stops pacing to looks at him. “You did get in late,” she says. “Where did you go after...No, you know what, you'll tell me later. I'm calling them right now.”

She resumes her pacing, taking her phone out of her pocket and scrolling through her contacts. John looks at Marcos, who gives him a helpless shrug.

“Hello? Yes, I'd like to speak to your manager, please,” Lorna says when someone picks up. “I don't care that it's early, just give me your manager right now!”

John buries his head into his face as he makes out the fumble of the young woman on the phone, trying to explain that her boss is not in yet. He decides that Lorna's angry ramble at the poor woman is too embarrassing to listen to, and stands up from the breakfast table.

“I'm going to walk Zingo,” he tells Marcos.

His friend gives him a desperate 'are you going to leave me here?' look. Lorna is too focused on her shouting to pay attention, so John gives him a wave of the head. “Come on.”

“Thanks,” Marcos murmurs when they're both lacing their shoes. “When she gets like this−”

“I know she thinks she's doing it for me,” John says. “And I love her for it, but she's going slightly overboard with this.”

Marcos nods. “There's no stopping her, though. Not now.”

“Zingo!” John calls. “Come here, girl.”

The three of them walk out of the apartment, leaving Lorna to her business. She sounds like she managed to get the restaurant's owner on the phone, so this might well take a while.

“So, what happened after you got thrown out?” Marcos asks once they're in the park. It's Saturday and the weather is warm, so there are too many people around for John to let Zingo off her leash. They walk slowly down the path instead, keeping her close and away from the other dogs.

“We went to the center,” John says. He summarizes his evening with Clarice briefly, leaving out her panic attack as it seems too private to share.

“You got her _pizza_?” is Marcos's reaction. “After getting kicked out of a nice restaurant?”

“I don't think she'd agree with your definition of nice,” John remarks.

“You know what I mean. But pizza, John? Really?”

“What? She likes pizza.”

“Not for a first date!”

“So what other option did I have? Let us starve? Or try another restaurant and risk being thrown out again?”

Marcos sighs. “I guess you're right about that. But still, pizza is _not_ first date material. Wait until Lorna learns about it.”

“It is for us, now,” John shrugs. “Though I won't tell Lorna anytime soon. I'll at least wait until she calms down about the restaurant.”

“Aren't you angry about it?”

“Of course I am. But making it into a big thing is just going to embarrass Clarice further. She...it was especially hard on her.”

Marcos nods. “I get that. So, are you going to do this again?”

“Get kicked out of a restaurant?” John smirks.

Marcos rolls his eyes. “Is that how you're going to play it? I meant date!”

John sobers up. “I don't know. I think we both want to, but we can't risk this happening again.”

“So you're going to do what, never date again?”

“No. Just think things through more carefully.”

“I had no idea that restaurant was like that,” Marcos says. “We've been there quite a few times with Lorna, never had a problem.”

“It could have just been a one-time thing, I suppose. But you haven't been there recently, have you?”

“The only thing we've had to celebrate were your progress, which you didn't let us do, and the baby. We didn't want to keep you out of that.”

John sighs. “You don't have to be with me all the time, you know. I'm doing fine.”

“It's not about that, John. You're our best friend, you're the one who introduced us, you'll always be part of the family.”

“But you two deserve some date nights for just the two of you.”

Marcos shrugs. “I guess that just means you'll have to take Clarice somewhere so I can make a candlelight dinner for Lorna.”

“She would hate that,” John says.

“I know. I've tried before. In my defense, it was back at the beginning of our relationship and I didn't know her well back then.”

“Should we get back and see if she's thoroughly embarrassed the restaurant's owner?”

“Let's go,” Marcos nods.

They get back to the apartment just in time to hear Lorna hang up the phone and curse out loud. John and Marcos share a look, amused, before they kick off their shoes and enter the living room, releasing Zingo from her leash.

“You should sue them,” Lorna tells John sulkily.

“I'm not putting Clarice through that,” John answers, dropping onto the couch and bending down to remove his leg braces. “And there's very little chance that we would actually win in court.”

“I know,” Lorna sighs. “Still, they deserve worse than a single bad rating.”

“You know what? I'll let you take this to social media if you want, as long as you don't mention Clarice by name,” John says. “You're right, they deserve some kind of comeback. You think the new owner is anti-mutant as well, not just the waiter?”

“Well, he certainly didn't seem worried when I told him I'd do my best so no mutant ever steps foot in his restaurant again, so I'd say he doesn't love us.”

“Then you're welcome to do your worst if you keep Clarice out of it,” John says.

“Thank you!” Lorna claps her hands, excited. John smirks at her, amused at her enthusiasm. Lorna is never quite as cheerful as when she's destroying something, even if it's just someone's reputation.

“So, what did you do at the center with Clarice, anyway?” she asks when she's calmed down.

“I don't think that's any of your business,” John answers, throwing a dark look at Marcos who is struggling not to laugh.

“I'm not asking about your sex life, I just want to know if the date ended well after all.”

John smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, it did. It was nice.”

“Clarice is a nice person,” Marcos says with a smirk.

John pretends not to notice his teasing tone. “She really is,” he says.

 

Given the rumor mill that is the mutant community on a good day, John is fairly sure most of his friends know he and Clarice are dating by Tuesday, and what a disaster the restaurant was. Lorna's social media post about it is certainly eloquent, to Clarice's horror.

She spends most of Tuesday morning sulking and glaring at both John and Lorna, and it takes John most of her lunch break to convince her that no one beyond their friends will recognize her from Lorna's description in the post.

“But they're your friends, not mine!” Clarice protests.

John curses himself for not preparing her beyond getting her text permission for the story to appear. Lorna's crude rhetoric can be a bit much when you're not used to it.

“You're already part of this community, Clarice,” John says. “You have been since the day you showed up here. And we're only talking about a small group here, not all the mutants in the city. Isn't Shatter your friend? Haven't you been chatting with Pedro almost every morning?”

“Yeah, but−”

“You're one of us, and there's nothing you can do about it short of moving to the other side of the country. We support each other, especially against bigots.”

“But I didn't want everyone to know,” Clarice says in a small voice. “I don't know most of you more than in passing, and this is embarrassing.”

“I'm sorry,” John sighs. “I didn't mean to make it bad for you, but this restaurant deserves to be called out. I swear that everyone here have been through things like this before and don't think any less of you for it.”

“Even Sonya?” Clarice asks, looking away. Sonya came by in the morning and was her usual self, kissing John hello on the cheek and joking with Lorna. John didn't notice her talking to Clarice at all, but maybe this is where this comes from.

“Did she say something?”

“She didn't say anything. But I'm sure you never got thrown out of a restaurant when you were with her,” Clarice says sulkily.

“So this is about her being my ex?” John raises an eyebrow. He carefully keeps a small smile on his face, to show Clarice he's not actually annoyed. If this is some kind of jealousy on her part, John knows it's more about her own insecurities than about him.

“Yes. No. I know I'm being ridiculous. I just...I hate this.”

“I know,” John says, putting his hand on hers. “I'm really sorry we blindsided you with this.”

“You did ask my permission, I suppose.”

“Yeah, but I should have warned you that Lorna can be...enthusiastic.”

“That's one way of putting it,” Clarice snorts.

Impulsively, John pulls her closer and kisses her. They haven't kissed in public yet, but they're in the backroom of the café, with the door only half-open. John tries to pull out gently when he hears Lorna coming closer, but Clarice deepens the kiss instead.

“Wow,” Lorna whistles, walking in. “Do you guys need a moment? Or better yet, get a room!”

Clarice pulls away from John brutally, her face beetroot red.

“Like you and Marcos never kiss in here,” John retorts.

“Not when people are around!”

“Right. So I didn't walk in on you two a dozen times in the last month.”

“John, you live with us. And we've had a pregnancy to celebrate.”

“You've known for nearly two months!”

“We're going to have a baby,” Lorna smirks. “We'll celebrate that every day until it's here. And then some.”

“Fine,” John relents with a smile. “I can hear it more and more, you know.”

“I'm jealous,” Lorna says. “I won't feel it moving for another month at least, but you get to hear _my_ baby's heartbeat?”

“I wish I could share,” John says.

Clarice looks between them. “You can hear the baby?” she asks.

“Yeah. It's heart has been beating loud enough for a few weeks now.”

“That's nice,” Clarice smiles.

“Did you like my Twitter thread, by the way?” Lorna asks Clarice, because she has a way to jump head first into the bad stuff that will always amaze John. He doubts she's missed the glares Clarice has been giving her all morning, and this is her way of clearing the air.

Clarice throws her a dark look. “It was supposed to be a short post, not a detailed call-out,” she groans.

“They deserve it,” Lorna says. “And then some. I hope they lose a lot of customers.”

John doesn't formulate his agreement, not wanting Clarice to think he doesn't support her.

“But I didn't want to make a big thing about it,” Clarice says, wincing at the weakness of her own argument. However much Clarice is entitled to her feelings, Lorna has the logical high ground and she knows it.

Lorna, unfortunately, tends to forget to take other people's emotions into account during an argument if she thinks she's right, so John decides not to let it devolve into one.

“It's out there now,” he says. “But Lorna, Clarice isn't used to your...way of doing things, so maybe give her more warning next time?”

“You said she was okay with this!”

“I was okay with saying they're a bunch of bigots, not with telling the entire story to the world!”

“Your name's not even on it!” Lorna heats up. John sighs and rubs at his face. He's only managed to make it worse by intervening, of course.

“But now everyone knows!” Clarice exclaims, making a gesture to encompass the main room of the café.

Lorna blinks. “Is that what this is about?”

Clarice sits back, sighing. She looks away instead of answering.

“Nobody cares,” Lorna says quietly. “We all know what it's like to be discriminated against, Clarice.”

John nods at her echoing his earlier words, hoping that maybe Clarice will trust them more coming from Lorna.

“I'm not pretending that me, or John, or Marcos have it as bad as you do, because we don't. But nobody here is going to judge you for being targeted by freaking bigots, okay? We've all been there.”

“Yeah,” Clarice sighs. “I'm sorry. I'm not...denying that, just−”

“I should have given you a fair warning,” Lorna offers. “Sometimes I get too deep into the activism side of things and I forget some people don't want to be a part of that.”

“Thank you,” Clarice nods. “I'm...I shouldn't have freaked out.”

“I'm sure you have your reasons. It's okay, don't worry.”

Before they can say any more, Marcos sticks his head through the door.

“Are you guys going to leave me alone out there for much longer?” he asks. “I'm willing to give you time to talk, but−”

“Oh, I'm sorry!” Clarice exclaims, looking at the time. Her lunch break finished ten minutes ago. “I'll be right there.”

“Me too,” Lorna says, following Marcos back outside.

Clarice stands up and looks at John.

“I need to go back to work too,” he says. “Those books aren't gonna do themselves. But, Clarice?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to−” John hesitates. “The other night was a disaster, but...when you're ready, if you want, I'd like to try again. Dating, I mean, not the restaurant.”

“Oh, John, it wasn't a disaster,” Clarice says. “I mean, the thing at the restaurant was, but the rest of the night...I liked it. Of course I want to do it again. Maybe just...we could choose a better place? Somewhere we won't get kicked out?”

“I was thinking along those lines, yes,” John smiles, relieved. He hadn't realized how worried he's been that Clarice doesn't want to go forward with their relationship.

“I think we should take our time, but...yes, I want to keep dating you, John Proudstar,” Clarice says, leaning down to kiss him.

“Good,” John says when she pulls away to go back to work, biting his lower lip. “I'm glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter! The friendship between Clarice and Lorna is developing in a way that was not at all planned, and it's a nice surprise. Also I'm all here for Lorna pounding at the bigoted restaurant owner.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it too, please don't forget to tell me what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with another chapter! My posting schedule has gone out of the window in the last couple of weeks, and my writing schedule even more, so I hope the wait wasn't too long.

“Clarice, would you mind getting me more stirrers?” Marcos asks. He's serving a customer, while Clarice has just finished wiping the last of the empty tables.

“Sure,” she says, heading back to the counter. John isn't here yet, probably still at physical therapy, but Lorna is repairing one of the coffee machines that keeps overflowing, her hands shining in green light. Clarice can't help being fascinated for a moment as she watches the metal pieces move, but she shakes herself and walks into the back room.

Taking a box of stirrers off the shelf, Clarice sees a sheet of paper pinned to the wall that she's never noticed before. It's partly hidden from view by the shelves, and she wonders why anyone would put it there. It looks like a newspaper clip, and a look at the header confirms it's from one of the local papers.

_Disabled veteran takes over mutant community center,_ she reads. Below is a black and white picture of John, sitting in a wheelchair in front of the center, with Lorna standing beside him. Clarice blinks.

She steps back out to give Marcos the stirrers, but the café is quiet and she's drawn back to the article. It's dated almost six months ago, and Clarice's eyes linger on the picture.

_Mutant Marine veteran John Proudstar, who served two tours in Afghanistan before a life-changing injury ended his military career a few months ago, has made it his mission to save the mutant community center from closing,_ she reads. _Since the last manager decided to retire after receiving threats on his life and enduring several acts of vandalism, the mutant community has feared that the center would have to close its doors. Proudstar, along with co-activist Lorna Dane, who owns a small café nearby called the Underground, has decided to take over and intends to resist any more threats. “This place is the heart of the Atlanta mutant community,” he told us. “It would be a tragedy to see it close.”_

The article continues with details about John's military career, which Clarice only skims through. When she looks up, Lorna is standing in the door frame, watching her.

“I wondered when you'd read that,” she says. “John tried to take it down when we hired you, but I wanted to keep it, so he hid it away instead.”

“Why did you want to keep it?” Clarice frowns. “I mean, why here? It's about the center.”

“Among other things, that mention of the café is how we got famous in the community. Mutants started to come from all over the city after that. We lost some human patrons, but it more than evened out, and the atmosphere is a lot nicer when our clientele is nearly all mutant.”

“I see,” Clarice says. She did notice more visible mutants coming here than she's ever seen elsewhere in the city, but it makes sense that most of the others are mutants too. It explains why she rarely gets side looks, among other things. “But...” she starts. She doesn't know how to express her thought. “For John, that photo, isn't it...now that he can walk, I mean...” she trails off, embarrassed.

“You mean seeing himself in his wheelchair could be a bad reminder?” Lorna understands.

Clarice nods sheepishly.

“It doesn't work like that,” Lorna says. “He still uses the chair, for one. He can't stand for very long, so he takes it anytime we might have to walk or when he's tired. And he loves that chair. You should hear him talk about it, you'll see what I mean.”

“But−”

“Look, from the outside, people tend to see wheelchairs are the symbol of disability, and disability as a bad thing. But for John, it's independence. It means he can do what he wants and needs to without help, or without being in a lot of pain. Yes, he hated it at first, because he hated not being able to walk. But...well, maybe you should talk about it with him. I won't give you a class on disability acceptance.”

Clarice nods slowly. “Sorry,” she says. “I didn't mean any offense.”

“I know,” Lorna says. “It's fine. It's better if you ask those questions directly rather than make assumptions. I just wish other people would do the same.”

“You're not just talking about John, are you?” Clarice asks on a hunch. She really hopes she's not making another blunder.

Lorna looks at her for a moment, as if evaluating her.

“You might as well know, since you're here to stay,” she says. “I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at thirteen, just weeks after my powers manifested. All my friends know, but people...don't always react well.”

Clarice blinks and takes a moment to take it in. “Okay,” she says slowly. “I...I don't know a lot about it. I had a friend who was probably bipolar once, but they weren't formally diagnosed and it was...complicated.” She realizes she's rambling needlessly and takes a breath. “Anyway, what I mean is...please tell me if I say or do something wrong?”

“Sure,” Lorna smirks. “Don't worry. It can be a sensitive subject, but I'm not going to melt at the first blunder. Neither is John, by the way. Just ask him your questions.”

“I don't want to be insensitive.”

“Sometimes beating around the bush is worse. Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you if you have a treatment or something for your anxiety.”

“No,” Clarice says, frowning. “Why?”

“In case you have an attack here, so we know what to do. We try to have each other's back.”

“Oh, I see,” Clarice mutters. It sounds like a good idea, actually. “I don't have anything. It's kinda recent, and I didn't−”

“It's fine,” Lorna waves her hand. “You don't need to explain yourself. If you do want to do something about it, though, I know a good psychiatrist.”

Clarice shakes her head. “I'm good for now,” she says. She's considered it many times in the last few months since her anxiety attacks started to get worse, but she's never found it in her to take that step. She's not ready. She's still hoping it will just go away on its own.

“Alright,” Lorna says. “Well, just so you know, I take mood stabilizers, but they're not always enough. I don't get strong manic episodes anymore but...I don't know how my pregnancy is going to affect that, so it could get rocky.”

“You don't need to tell me this,” Clarice says.

“As I said, we try to have each other's back. I'd rather you know when to hold me back. The depression times are...less visible, and easier to manage in a way. I can't speak for the boys, but we'd all rather avoid making things worse for each other because we don't know what to do, so talk to John about this, at least, okay?”

Clarice nods. “I will. And Lorna? When I have a...an episode, the best is to get me away from other people. They're often triggered by...people staring at me, especially men, or anti-mutant comments, that sort of things.”

“Okay,” Lorna says. “Thanks. For telling me. And welcome to our little dysfunctional family,” she adds with a smirk.

“Thank you,” Clarice laughs. She feels oddly honored.

 

John limps his way through the café and up to the apartment to shower and change after his physical therapy. Shannon, his therapist, had him walk up and down without support for most of the session, and his legs feel weak and tired.

He almost takes his cane before going down, but he decides against it at the last moment, since he's only going to sit anyway. The fact that Clarice has yet to see him use his cane has nothing to do with it. Or so he tries to convince himself.

It's been almost two weeks since their date, and though they haven't yet made plans for another one, their relationship is still strong and sweet. John really likes that they're on their way to develop a real friendship before going further into the romantic side of things, and Clarice seems to agree with that wholeheartedly. They've spent time just chilling on the couch in Marcos and Lorna's apartment in the afternoons, before the café closes, just the two of them. Kissing, occasionally, but mostly getting to know each other better.

There's no line at the counter when John enter the café through the back room, so he walks up to Clarice to pick up his coffee, signaling her not to move. She often brings it to him at his table, but John feels uncomfortable being treated differently from the other customers. Marcos and Lorna already refuse that he pay for anything, so he might as well not make Clarice work extra for him.

“Hi,” she smiles when he gets close. She frowns slightly at his uneven gait. “Are you okay?”

“I'm good,” John says, smiling back. “Just an intense session this morning.”

“You didn't have to come down,” Marcos says, looking at him over Clarice's shoulder while he pours another coffee.

“I know,” John answers. “I'm fine, I just need to get off my feet for a bit. I can do that here just as well. That way I get to see your beautiful face,” he adds for Clarice.

She beams at him and laughs. “You mean you can watch me run around and sweat while you put your feet up.”

“Exactly,” John smirks. He picks up his coffee and starts to move to his table. A group of their friends, consisting of Sonya, Sage and Pedro, are just getting up to leave and he waves at them.

“Johnny!” Sonya exclaims, coming up to him to kiss his cheek. “We need to talk about who's handling youth activities for the next few Saturdays. I just accepted this big project and I won't be able to come.”

“Sure,” John answers. “Can we do that tonight after my class?”

“Okay. I'll see you then.”

Sage just nods at John, and Pedro shakes his hand.

“Hey, Pedro, can I ask you something?” John flags down the other man before he can leave.

“John? What is it?”

“Do you−” John hesitates, unsure how to put it. “Do you know which restaurants around here are fully mutant-friendly?”

Pedro frowns. “You mean for people like me,” he understands. “Visible mutants. Is this about Clarice? You too are going out, right?”

“Yeah, uh, we got kicked out of a place the other day. I just don't want to repeat the experience.”

“So you're asking me. For a place to take her on a date.”

John looks at him closely, afraid he's offended him, but Pedro is actually smiling in amusement.

“I suppose I am, yes.”

Pedro thinks for a moment. “It might be more complicated than you'd think,” he says. “The only places truly safe are mutant-run, and this here is the only food place I know in town. I have a couple of fast-food places I know are fine with me, but actual restaurants? I can give you a bunch of clubs and bars, though.”

“I might come back to you for those, but I'm looking for something for dinner,” John says.

“I don't think I can help you. Sorry, mate. I can always come in and scare everyone away next time you'll get bothered though.”

John laughs. “Right. I'd rather avoid a next time, if it's alright with you.”

“Suit yourself. But if you're dating a visible mutant, it's bound to happen again,” Pedro shrugs.

“I know,” John says. “Thank you.”

Pedro nods and leaves, waving an _adios_ at Marcos on the way.

John sighs. He still has no idea where to take Clarice, and he doesn't just want to take his chances somewhere and risk getting thrown out again. He doesn't want to put Clarice through that again.

He's lived through plenty of discrimination himself, though neither his mutant or his Native status are obvious at first sight. Back in his hometown, when out of the reservation proper, his cheap and threadbare clothes told more about where he came from than the color of his skin, but he got kicked out of plenty of places anyway. But since becoming an adult, it's always been more subtle. Humans in the Marines going out of their way not to be assigned with mutants. People looking at him sideways after shaking his hand. Rumors and murmurs where they think he can't hear them. The waves of hate he got after publicly taking over the center, the mutant-haters who came to break the windows too many times.

And, recently, steps in front of a building. Cars parked on the sidewalk. Feet that kick his cane out from under him. Pitying looks and sad voices who won't talk to him directly.

But because he's human-passing, white-passing, and a large, tall man, he doesn't go through the surge of fear that Clarice described to him. He has plenty of hypervigilance of his own, but it doesn't come from fear of being attacked every time he meets someone new.

Sitting down at his usual table, sipping his coffee, John observes Clarice move behind the counter for a while. She seems perfectly at ease here. She's truly becoming a part of their little family, quicker than John ever imagined. And John is falling for her harder than he thought he was capable of, after Pulse's death.

 

“Should I wake him up?” Clarice asks Marcos, nodding toward John's shape, nodding off in his chair. His head is resting on his crossed arms across his laptop's keyboard.

“He must be very tired to fall asleep in here,” Marcos remarks. The 10 a.m. crowd has gone to leave a lull before lunch, but the café is never truly quiet. “But yes, this position is probably not good for his back.”

Clarice nods and approaches John. He doesn't seem to hear her, which is a first, so she gently shakes his shoulder.

John jumps and jerks his head up, immediately alert. For a second, there's a haunted look in his eyes, and his breathing picks up. Clarice removes her hand from his arm quickly. She can pinpoint the moment he reins himself in and registers her face and the café around them.

“Hey,” she says. “We thought you might want to go back upstairs before you really fall asleep.”

John looks at her, then beyond her at Marcos, and nods. “Thanks,” he says, embarrassed. “I must be more tired than I thought.”

“Are you really okay?” Clarice frowns.

“Yeah,” John reassures her. “PT was hard, and I didn't sleep well last night, that's all. You're right, I should go get some rest.”

“Alright,” Clarice nods. She looks at her watch. “I still have about an hour to go before my lunch break,” she says. “But maybe I could join you upstairs when I'm free?”

Clarice, Marcos and Lorna usually take their breaks one after the other so there's always someone manning the counter, so Clarice would otherwise have her lunch on her own in the back room.

“Sounds nice,” John says. He puts his laptop away in his bag, and stands up. He winces in pain, nearly falling back down onto his chair.

“I'm okay,” he raises his hands, anticipating Clarice's concern. He pulls a pill bottle out of his pocket and pops a couple of tablets in his mouth, dry-swallowing. “My legs didn't agree with PT this morning, but I'll be fine. Just hope this gets easier before my class tonight.”

“Can't someone else handle your class if it doesn't?”

“Lorna usually does it, but the kids always say it's not as good with her,” John smirks. “She has plenty of patience for martial arts, but apparently not so much for learning to control powers.”

“Still, if you're too tired−”

“I'll be alright,” John promises. “Don't worry about me.”

“Okay,” Clarice relents. She moves back to let him walk to the back door. His gait is still hesitant, but he doesn't look ready to fall down, so she swallows back her concern.

“Don't worry about him too much,” Lorna says from behind her, making her jump. Clarice hadn't noticed her coming closer. “Despite all appearances to the contrary, he does know how to take care of himself. He won't go tonight if he's not sure he can handle the kids.”

“Thank you,” Clarice smiles at her. “That's actually reassuring.”

“He's not getting away with calling me impatient, though. All the patience in the world wouldn't be enough to handle a bunch of teenagers determined to do anything but listen!”

Clarice laughs. “Are they really that much of a handful?”

“Maybe not with John. He started that class back when he was still in quite a lot of pain, so they learned early on what they should and shouldn't do with him. And they can be fairly disciplined when they want to be. I guess they just don't like me subbing for him.”

“Maybe you're just not good-looking enough,” Clarice jokes, looking Lorna up and down.

“Hey, there are plenty of boys in that class!” Lorna pretends to be offended.

“So what?” Clarice smirks. “Boys aren't allowed to prefer John?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor John is really tired and in pain. The reason will become apparent in the next chapter.
> 
> Not much happening in this chapter, just sweet little scenes and bounding. This story is turning out to be a lot of that.
> 
> Just a note: Clarice has been generally very good about John's disability, but she's doesn't really know how to do things. In this chapter, she's thinking of John using a wheelchair as a 'bad' thing (in that it makes her feel for him, but actually saying it is a little callous), and right after that when Lorna tells her she's bipolar she starts rambling about the friend she had who also was, and it really brings nothing to the conversation. There's a joke going around, I believe it started in the Deaf community, that says "when I tell you I'm disabled, don't start telling me about your neighbor's deaf dog." It's a good guideline, people.
> 
> Aside from that, I really love where this budding Clarice/Lorna friendship is going. What do you think?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The explanation for why John was so tired in the last chapter, and a second date. First date was all from Clarice's point of view, so this one is from John's, and there are surprises in store for him.

Sitting down on the bathroom stool to get dressed after his shower, John sighs and rubs his eyes. The physical therapy session he's just come back from was exhausting and painful again, as all of them have been recently. He winces when his back protests at the contortions needed to strap his braces on and pulling on his pants.

The face looking back at him in the mirror has bags under his eyes and a rubble he can't find the energy to shave away. John tries to make his hair look presentable at least, but it doesn't really help.

He doesn't know if his current bout of insomnia is brought on by the pain in his legs from his physical therapist pushing him harder than usual, or from knowing that this is Sharon's last effort to get him to walk without the braces. He's spent many a sleepless night thinking about it.

The idea of needing mobility aids for the rest of his life doesn't scare him as much as it once did, though the chronic pain that looks less and less like it's going to ease does. Spinal chord injuries are fickle enough that things could still evolve one way or another, especially with his mutation in the way, but for now it looks like he's reaching the end of what physical therapy can do for him.

Walking is easier than last week, if only because he spent two whole days doing nothing but resting over the weekend, but he hasn't had a proper night in a week. Clarice spots it the moment he comes down. She waves him to his table and comes over as soon as she's finished with her customer.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look tired.”

“I am,” John answers honestly, because there's no point in lying. “But I'm fine.”

He sips the coffee she brought him, with the vague hope that it will give him some energy. It doesn't, of course−caffeine has never done anything for him−but the heat does feel good coming down his throat.

Clarice starts to turn away, but John hurriedly puts down the coffee and grabs her wrist gently.

“Hey, how are _you_ doing?” he asks. All this worrying about him shouldn't make him forget that Clarice has her own stuff to deal with.

Clarice turns back and smiles at him. A real, genuine smile that warms John's heart.

“I'm good,” she says. “I'm glad the weather is getting good enough to stay outside.”

“Me, too,” John says. The warmth also makes the pain in his back ease a little, so that's a good thing. “We could go to the park with Zingo after your shift, if you want to.”

“Let's do that,” Clarice nods.

 

Zingo bounces up and down all the way to the park, happy to get outside earlier than usual and in the warmth of the sun. John lets her run before she makes him stumble by pulling on the leash. It wouldn't usually be a problem, but he's still feeling the strain of this morning's PT session in his legs and back. And he's too tired to focus on his balance properly.

“Do you mind if we sit down?” he asks Clarice, pointing at a bench. He winces, apprehending her reaction. She may have been amazing about his disability so far, but she still doesn't know that much about it. And even if his pain doesn't trigger mockery, pity can be just as bad.

“Sure,” Clarice says simply. She immediately goes to sit on the bench, before John can even start changing his course. He joins her and tries to smile, but the irrational guilt and anxiety is still eating at him. He knows it's ridiculous, that just asking her to sit down isn't going to make Clarice run away, but that doesn't make the fear disappear.

She picks up on his hesitation.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

“Just tired,” John answers absently, still lost in self-flagellation.

“No, I mean why do you look like you want the ground to eat you right now?”

John refocuses his gaze on Clarice and snorts in surprise. He shakes his head, annoyed at himself now for letting his feelings show through.

“I'm sorry. I just...I hate how limiting this is sometimes,” he points down at his legs. “And that it doesn't affect just me.”

Clarice bites her lip.

“You know, I've been on my feet all day, so I'll welcome a bit of sitting in the sun,” she says. “And you never need to apologize for this.”

“I just don't want to hold you back,” John says.

“I'm here to be with you, not to walk in a park aimlessly,” Clarice jokes, but she also nods to say she understands what he really means. “I'd much rather sit down than you being in pain for my sake, John.”

“Yeah,” John laughs self-deprecatingly. “I do know that. It's just hard to remember sometimes.”

“Our brains are really terrible, aren't they?”

“Tell me about it.”

Their eyes meet, and they both smile. It's moments like these that John cherishes most with Clarice, moments of empathy and understanding. They're more different than they're alike, yet a real link is growing between them that's deeper than any romantic attraction.

Letting the tension in his body go, John reclines against the back of the bench and puts an arm around Clarice's shoulders.

“What are you doing this weekend?” he asks.

“I don't have plans yet. I usually volunteer at the shelter on Saturdays, but Shatter asked me to switch with Mondays, because they have enough people on the weekends and I'm free anyway.”

“And that way you can sleep in on Saturday.”

Clarice laughs. She confessed her love of sleeping in to John at the center the other day, and he's been gently making fun of her ever since. “I admire you,” he said as an apology. “I'm lucky if I get to sleep as late as six.”

“There's that,” she smiles. “What are _you_ doing on Saturday?”

“As usual, PT in the morning then I'm at the center for classes and youth club until four,” John answers with a shrug.

“Busy day,” Clarice winces. While John loves the mutant teenagers and children who come to the youth club, he's complained a few times before that spending several hours with them can be exhausting.

“Yes,” he answers. “Sonya is usually the one who organizes most of the activities, but she won't be there for the next few weeks. I'll need to come up with something myself.”

“I'm sure you will,” Clarice smiles. “By the way, you doing anything in the evening?”

“No, why?”

“You know how we were talking about dates the other day.”

“I remember.”

“I'm not sure I'm ready to try another restaurant just yet, but−” Clarice hesitates.

“What is it? You have an idea?”

“Well, there's this concert on Saturday evening. But I'm not sure−”

“Clarice,” John turns to face her fully. “I'm all ears. Tell me.”

Clarice takes a deep breath. “Okay. I don't really know what kind of music you listen to, but there's this band I enjoy, they do something of a mix between baroque and modern indie stuff, it's a bit niche, but−”

“It sounds interesting. And they're having a concert?”

“Yes. At the Botanical Garden. It's outdoors, so we could just stay on the fringe and leave if you don't like it.”

“I can behave,” John smiles. “I can tell you want to go, and I'd love to come with you. As long as it's not really loud music or something.”

“No, not at all, but...oh, you don't like loud noise because of your mutation,” Clarice understands.

“Yeah,” John says, slightly embarrassed. “It gets...painful, or overwhelming.”

“Well, this should be fine, it's mostly older instruments and, you know, bamboo flutes, that sort of things. No heavy metal.”

“I had a heavy metal phase at one point,” John says. “Just never went to an actual concert. Or rather, I went once and ran away after a few minutes.”

“Heavy metal? Really?”

“I still have the AC/DC tee-shirts somewhere.”

“So you probably won't like this kind of music−” Clarice starts, wringing her hands.

“Hey, don't worry so much. I'm willing to try. And being with you would make any day great, anyway.”

“Even when we get thrown out of restaurants?”

“Even then. I've been looking for a place I could take you to for over a week that won't be a risk, but that concert sounds like a perfect idea.”

“Okay, then,” Clarice smiles.

 

Getting to the botanical garden on Saturday, John barely hesitates before parking in the disabled parking spot. Clarice has seen his car's manual commands, she's seen his leg braces, the cat is out of the bag now. Disabled parking is probably not going to make her run away. And given the layout of the botanical garden, if he parked in the closest free spot, he wouldn't even make it to the concert.

“The concert is at 8 p.m., but there should be a snack bar open, if we want to grab a bite before then,” Clarice says, after they've paid and made their way inside the garden.

“We can do that,” John nods. “Lead the way.”

They're an hour early for the concert, but the weather is warm enough that just being outside is enjoyable. The garden seems mostly empty since it's normally close at this hour, but Clarice has her sunglasses on anyway. John puts his own on too, the glare of the descending sun too strong for him to go unprotected.

Walking down the pathway, Clarice comes closer and shyly touches his hand with hers, like a question mark. John smiles at her and intertwines their hands.

“Is that okay?” she asks softly.

“More than okay,” John murmurs back.

John can already feel the pull in his legs by the time they get to the snack bar. He wishes he'd dared to take the cane he left in his car, instead of stubbornly trying to hide this from Clarice. He's careful not to lean on their linked hands, but Clarice must feel him slow down.

“We won't need to walk much more, the concert will be right over there,” she says, pointing to the small platform on the lawn, a couple hundred feet away.

“Do we just sit in the grass in front of it?” John asks.

“That's why I brought a blanket,” Clarice pats the bag she's carrying. “It's not...it's not a problem, is it?” she frowns, suddenly worried.

“No, it's fine,” John smiles reassuringly. It's not the best arrangement, but as long as he's sitting, he'll be okay. Concerts where you have to stand are out for him, though they're usually so loud and crowded that he avoided them long before his injury.

“I didn't think to ask before,” Clarice winces.

“It's really okay, don't worry,” John says. “Sitting on the floor isn't a problem.”

“We could get food and go right over there, that way we don't have to move later and we'll have a good spot?”

“Sounds good.”

John wonders if eating junk food is going to become a pattern in their dates. After the pizza last time, they now get burritos from the snack bar. At least they turn out to be pretty good.

As time passes, they watch more people choose spots on the lawn, thankfully none too close to the two of them. Clarice snuggles close to John on the blanket, removing her shoes, and he wishes he could easily do the same. His braces make his feet too stiff to sit cross-legged properly, but he doesn't dare unstrap them and find himself unable to stand up quickly. It's hard enough not reacting to having people at his back.

Clarice is more relaxed than he is, her anxiety seemingly melting behind the protection of her shades. John knows that's not really how it works, that it probably has to do with his presence and other factors he can't even think of, but he has no wish to bring it up right now. He wants to enjoy the moment.

The musicians start coming on stage not long later, tuning their instruments. They, as much as their audience, are very different from any concert John has ever been to−not that it has been such a frequent occurrence. It was usually Lorna who dragged him to the quietest performances of the bands she likes when he was on leave from the Marines.

Clarice, lighting up in a way that shows her interest, names him each instrument as the musicians takes them out of their cases.

“I wouldn't have pegged you for a baroque music nerd,” John says in her ear.

Clarice shrugs. “I'm full of surprises,” she says. “It's just a random interest, I don't even know why. I enjoy their music.”

“I can tell,” John smiles.

The lead musician, putting aside an old-looking cello−“viola de gamba,” Clarice mutters−stands up.

“Tonight we are welcoming a special guest,” he says, waving to a middle-aged woman. “Mahvash Karzai comes to us from Kabul. She will sing and play the rubab, and we'll interpret pieces from her homeland.”

“Kabul. That's in Afghanistan, right?” Clarice asks, biting her lip.

“Yes,” John says. “Though I never went there.”

“You ever heard Afghan music?”

“A couple times,” John answers. “But they have different traditions in different places, so this might be nothing like what I know.”

Clarice nods and John adjusts his arm around her, watching the singer prepare her rubab.

He doesn't expect the wave of memories and emotions that assault him the moment the woman starts singing. Her voice is powerful and beautiful, but the melody and the language are haunting to John. It's not flashbacks, not really, the music just resonates with something deep in him.

There's the hot, unforgiving sun of the desert, and sitting in the shade of a building with Pulse, close but not touching. Someone playing a rubab somewhere close. Just flashes, images. The feast John and his unit once stumbled onto, colorful and happy, the musical language of the locals. The bombed out houses and the bodies and the gunshots. Pulse.

John blinks, and he's back in the present, with Clarice half-lying on him and the captivating voice of the singer.

“Are you okay?” Clarice asks softly, turning to look at him.

John realizes he has tears running down his cheek. He dries them with the hand Clarice isn't holding. “Yeah,” he nods. “I'm fine. It's beautiful.”

“It is,” Clarice agrees, turning back toward the stage.

John doesn't know if it's the music, but as he stares up at the face of the singer, he can almost feel Pulse beside him, like they once were in the desert. But no image of his death, of the explosion that took John's unit, come to him in that moment. The song is about war and loss, from the little Pashto John can understand, and he cries for the destruction and the deaths, but this image of Pulse, this sensation, is at peace.

He's happy for John. It may just be a hallucination, or a trick of his connected sense, but John can see him wave and smile, before the song ends and the desert disappears, leaving only the lawn and Clarice in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John has been feeling like he's betraying Pulse for a while, so I wanted to address that. The concert itself is inspired by one I went to recently that also mixed baroque/medieval instrument with Middle Eastern music.
> 
> If you've enjoyed this chapter, don't hesitate to leave a comment, even a very short one, I love hearing what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The follow-up of the date, back at Clarice's place.

John is pensive, all the way to Clarice's apartment after the concert. What the music brought out in him was unexpected, although not altogether in a bad way. He and Clarice stayed sitting on her blanket until it got too cold to stay outside, but John has had a hard time staying focused on her.

He feels like Pulse, whatever version of him that eerie image was, gave him his blessing for this new relationship, this new love that is arising deep inside John. The guilt he's felt since starting things with Clarice has vanished, at least for tonight. John feels freer, better than he has in a long time.

He shakes his head and tries to concentrate on driving, to stop his thoughts from taking off. Clarice is silent beside him, observing him.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asks after a while.

“I did,” John answers. “More than I expected. It was...moving.”

Clarice nods. “I didn't know the theme of the evening,” she says. “I would have told you.”

“I'm glad we went. It was a beautiful concert, and I liked doing this with you.”

“Me too,” Clarice smiles. “You can park over here,” she adds, pointing to the one handicapped spot in front of her building.

“Okay,” John says, reversing his car. He's glad she's already this comfortable with it. He leans over to get his placard from the glove box and hangs it on the rearview mirror.

“You want to come up?” Clarice asks once they're out of the car.

John hesitates. “You think it's a good idea? I mean, this is really new...”

“John, I offered. I'm on board with this, I want to know if you are too. It's okay if you're not ready, though,” she adds.

“No, I−I would like that,” John says, putting an arm around her waist. He tries to put aside the unbidden doubts. He does want this.

“I'm on the second floor,” Clarice says, entering the building.

John eyes the decrepit lobby. He knew Clarice was struggling financially, having trouble finding a stable job, but this is a little worse than he expected.

“Don't worry, my place is nicer,” Clarice says, picking up on his dismay.

“It's a bit...old,” John admits.

“Yeah. But my landlord is mutant-friendly, and his rent is actually affordable, so−”

“I didn't mean to criticize,” John backs away.

“It's okay, John, I know how this looks.”

“Hey, I live in my best friends' guest room. My best friends who are a couple and about to have a baby,” John deadpans. “Which reminds me I really need to find a place of my own before they actually need the room.”

Clarice smiles. “Come on,” she says. “There's no elevator, but the stairs are over there.”

John freezes. “Uh, I don't do stairs very well these days,” he says.

“Damn,” Clarice swears. “I didn't think about that. I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. It's just one floor, right? I can probably handle that.”

It's going to be hell on his legs, though. John hopes he'll be able to walk in the morning, but he's not going to back off now.

“John,” Clarice calls. He looks up and meets her eyes. “You don't need to be embarrassed about this. I don't want you to hurt yourself for me.”

John sighs. “This is probably the only place we're going to get any kind of privacy for now. I want to do this, Clarice. Just...I've got a cane in my car. It should make this easier.”

“Let me go get it,” Clarice says.

John wants to say he can do it himself, but the truth is he's already tired, and he still has to make it up the stairs. He hands Clarice his car keys instead. “It's in the back.”

She comes back quickly, holding his cane. John feels so self-conscious taking it that it's like coming out of the hospital in a wheelchair all over again. He'd hoped he was past this, but apparently not. He keeps his gaze firmly on the floor, unable to meet Clarice's eyes.

“John, look at me,” Clarice says suddenly, before he can start going up the stairs. He looks up, though he doesn't quite make eye contact. “I don't care, okay? You're still the same person to me if you need a stick to walk, or a wheelchair or anything. It doesn't make you weaker.”

John closes his eyes and sighs. “I should be used to it by now, but it's still hard not to feel that way.”

“Well, I'll keep reminding you then,” Clarice says, raising a playful eyebrow.

John laughs. “Thanks. I needed to hear it.”

He's a little more confident when he starts his way up, leaning heavily on both his cane and the railing. Clarice somehow manages to stay at his side without looking like she's slowing down for him, and it's buoying. John loves her for that.

She also doesn't ask him how he's doing when he finally makes it to the landing, his legs on fire, and she simply unlocks the door to her place and lets him in.

Her two-room apartment does look newer than the lobby, but John suspects it's mostly because she's painted the walls in vivid colors. It's nice, though, warm and cozy.

“You want a beer or something?” Clarice asks.

“Sure,” John answers, gingerly sitting down on the couch.

He hesitates for a moment. Removing his braces now means that Clarice will see him walking without them, and he's not sure he's ready for that. On the other hand, his legs are killing him and keeping the braces on will just make his muscles seize up.

Clarice comes back with two cans of beer and sits down next to John on the couch. With a sigh, she kicks off her shoes and brings her legs up, leaning into him for a hug.

Their relationship is decidedly not shaping up to be anything like what John has had before, and it's certainly been unconventional so far. But then Clarice is something else. She's nothing like any date John has ever brought home, or even anything like Pulse, or Sonya, or the couple of serious girlfriends he had in high school. If she feels comfortable just chilling on her couch and cuddling the first time she brings him into her home, John is all for it, even though it's not quite what he expected.

He shifts to put his arm around Clarice's shoulders and takes a sip of his beer, trying to relax.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she says, gesturing to his shoes. John hesitates again. “I mean it,” she adds. “Whatever you need to do.”

“Alright,” John relents. He takes his arm back to unlace his boots and puts them aside, then he unstraps the braces from his calves. He can feel Clarice's gaze following his moves, curious.

“Are those custom-made?” she asks when John slips the plastic braces into one of his shoes.

“Yeah.”

“Does it hurt? To walk?”

John hesitates long enough on his answer that she adds, “Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to answer.”

“No, it's fine,” John says. And it is, because she's genuinely just curious. Most people either ask out of pity or some kind of morbid fascination, but Clarice just wants to know more about him. “I've walked a bit too much today, so I'm sore. But walking doesn't really hurt in itself.”

Clarice nods, then suddenly goes stiff.

“What's wrong?” John asks her.

“I just had a thought,” Clarice says. “Damn, you're gonna hate me.”

“What? Why?”

“I made you come all the way up the stairs, but I could just have made a portal and blinked us in here. I can't believe I didn't even think of that.”

“Neither did I,” John says. It didn't even cross his mind. “It's okay, I made it here anyway. You don't use your power much, do you?”

“So far it's been mostly to get out of bad situations,” Clarice says, leaning back into his arms. “The portals don't come very easily, so it's too much trouble to use them regularly.”

“It's never gonna get better if you don't practice, though,” John says.

“How would you know about that?” Clarice grumbles, but there's not heat behind her words.

“You think I was born knowing how to track?”

“You seem so...good at everything you do,” Clarice shrugs.

John lets out a laugh. “Clarice, I can barely walk.”

“That's different. You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don't. I'm good at tracking because I trained for it, just like I trained for combat. When I manifested, I almost died from the sensory overload. Believe me, it didn't come naturally.”

“Sorry,” Clarice says sheepishly. “I didn't mean to imply you had it easy. I just...my mutation never felt like a gift, you know?”

“Yeah. I wish people weren't so thoughtless. You are beautiful, Clarice. And so are your powers. Your portals...they're unlike any ability I've ever seen. You could do so much.”

“Shut up,” Clarice says, kissing him for good measure. John leans into the kiss and it turns into something more. When they pull away from each other, they're out of breath and their beers are forgotten on the couch's armrests.

“Want to move this to my bedroom?” Clarice asks, more tentatively than John would have expected from her.

Once more, John hesitates. Moving now means walking, means Clarice will see him hobble without his braces. But the couch is not very comfortable, and his legs and back already ache from the long day.

“Come on,” Clarice makes the decision for him, standing up. At least she understands that his hesitation is not reluctance. She doesn't pull on his arm, either, she lets him stand at his own pace.

John concentrates on keeping his feet flat on the floor and tries to ignore Clarice's gaze on him. Having to think about this has pulled him right out of the moment, but this is what his life is like now. Everything takes more time and more thought.

“You don't walk that bad,” Clarice says when they've made it to her bed. “Just kinda slow.”

John loves that she can say something like this and sound nothing but encouraging and admiring. “That's because it wasn't far,” he answers. “Once I lose my concentration, I just look wasted.”

Clarice laughs. “Can you even get drunk?”

“Sure,” John says. “After a few whiskeys, I'll pass out like anyone else.”

“Shots?”

John snorts. “Bottles,” he says.

“Oh. Well, remind me to never try to outdrink you then.”

John just smiles and leans in to kiss her. They're still sitting side by side on her bed like school children, but it's okay. They don't have to do things conventionally.

This time Clarice slips her hands under his shirt and up his torso. “So much muscle,” she mutters between kisses.

“You like it?”

“Who wouldn't?”

John smiles and kisses her again. Clarice resumes her exploring, both of his mouth and his torso, but she freezes when her hand go to his back.

“That's…?” she asks, pulling away slightly.

John just nods. Clarice gently takes the edges of his shirt. “May I?”

He nods again, biting his swollen lip. Clarice gently pulls his shirt over his head and sets it aside. It's one more moment of truth, about whether Clarice will run away screaming at the sight of his back.

John avoids looking at it in the mirror, but he knows what it looks like. With the still red, puckered scars all over, third degree burns and pieces of shrapnel embedded in his flesh, it's a war zone. It comes from a war zone.

Clarice slowly, deliberately shifts to sit behind him. John doesn't move, frozen.

“Is there anywhere I shouldn't...touch?” she asks after a moment.

John turns his head to look at her. She doesn't look scared, but she's shaken. When she looks up at him, there are tears in her eyes. “Clarice−” he starts.

“I'm sorry,” Clarice says. “I just...I hate that someone hurt you that way. I don't want to think of you in that much pain.”

“Come here,” John says, opening his arms. He doesn't know what he expected, but this isn't it.

It's also not the night he envisioned, but that was just a fantasy. This is deeper, better.

Clarice leans into his arms and hugs him tightly, though she's still careful not to touch his back.

“To answer your question, touching doesn't hurt,” John says. “The skin is a bit tender sometimes, but it's so dense that I can barely feel touch anyway.”

It's a testament to how close he already feels to her that he's comfortable sharing that kind of details. Only Pulse and Sonya have ever known anything about his sensory issues, and that was before his injuries.

“So if I do this...” Clarice trails off, her hand going to the back of his shoulder.

“You'll have to be rougher than that. I don't even know what you're doing.”

“Like this?”

“That's better,” John smiles. “Don't worry, you're not going to hurt me. I might hurt you though. I sometimes misjudge my strength, so tell me immediately, okay?”

“Okay,” Clarice says softly. “But I'm not worried.”

John laughs. “Thank you for the vote of confidence, but I was serious,” he says, sobering up again. “All it would take is a moment of inattention, and I could crush you.”

“John, I know. It's okay, I know you'll be careful. And if we're doing the disclaimer thing, I sometimes start building portals accidentally when I get strong emotions. I've been told it feels very strange if I'm touching someone.”

“That doesn't sound too bad,” John says.

“You never know. I haven't managed to cut someone in half yet, but my mutation isn't just purple light. It can be dangerous.”

John nods. He meets Clarice's eyes to let her know he's taking her seriously, before he pulls her in for another kiss.

“Now that this is out of the way,” he says, “I find it very unfair that I'm the only one shirtless here.”

“Well, there's only one thing to do, then,” Clarice smirks. She starts undoing the buttons of her blouse, very slowly. John groans and pulls it over her head instead.

“Cheater,” Clarice murmurs before kissing him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this chapter very early on, it was one of the building blocks of this story. Clarice really seeing what John's disability really means for the first time, and it's the beginning of a new stage in their relationship, of course. 
> 
> Just so you know, I don't really care whether they actually have sex, and this is as close as you'll get to smut, so I hope that's not what you're here for :)
> 
> Tell me if you liked this chapter!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after... Quiet Sunday in Thunderblinkland.

John wakes up even earlier than usual beside Clarice, the morning after their date. Spending the night is a strange bed, in a strange apartment, and not alone for the first time in months has not done him any good, however much he enjoyed their evening up to the moment they both fell asleep in each other's arms. He tried not to let himself fall into a deep enough sleep to allow his usual nightmares−which means he barely dozed off at all.

Lying on his back, Clarice's sleeping head resting on his arm, John wishes he'd had the forethought to put his painkillers closer than in the pocket of his jeans, abandoned on the floor. He breathes through the pain instead, trying to focus on Clarice's relaxed features. He walked too much yesterday, even beside the trip up the stairs, and he's paying for that now.

He picks up the change in Clarice's breathing long before she opens her eyes. He rubs lightly at her arm when she does. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey yourself. How long have you been awake?”

“Couple hours,” John answers. “Just watching you sleep.”

“You could have woken me, you know.”

“I know. But you needed the sleep.”

And John needed time to get his body to cooperate. The pills he did manage to dig out of his jeans without waking up Clarice did their job, and he feels marginally more ready to face the day, but it took this long to get there.

Clarice rubs at her eyes, looking adorably young, and yawns. “What time is it? Do we have to do anything today?”

“Nothing,” John answers. “Though I'll probably have to get back home at some point. It's almost eight.”

“That's way too early,” Clarice decides, snuggling closer to him. “I want to sleep more.”

“Do you mind if I get up?” John asks her.

“Well, you make a good bed warmer, though you're about as soft as a brick. But I'll forgive you if you need to go. You're not leaving yet, though, right?”

“Not if you don't want me to. But I'll need my arm back, if you don't mind.”

Clarice lets go of his arm, curling up tighter under the covers, and John pushes himself up. His back protests the move, but the pain is dampened enough that he doesn't even wince.

He picks up his jeans and shirt from the floor and puts them on before standing up, helping himself with the corner of the desk close to the bed. He's suddenly thankful for the small size of Clarice's apartment, since it means there's a piece of furniture he can lean on almost everywhere.

His leg braces are still in his shoes in the living room, so John doesn't bother with them and heads for the bathroom instead. He's thankful to find a stool there he can drag in front of the sink to wash up. He'll have to go back home for a shower, but it can wait.

When Clarice rises blearily half-an-hour later, John is sitting on a bar stool in front of the kitchenette, watching a pan of eggs. He's fully dressed except for his shoes and braces, and their abandoned warm beers from yesterday have been moved for the low table to the sink.

“You're making breakfast?” Clarice asks, surprised.

“I found some eggs,” John shrugs. “Coffee's ready too.”

“Oh thanks God. I swear, waking up before eight on a Sunday is just _wrong,”_ Clarice says, dropping onto another stool.

John carefully shares the eggs between two plates, and puts one in front of her, as well as a mug of steaming coffee. “You know what they say about early birds,” he says.

Clarice looks up at him, blinking. Her eyes are still heavy with sleep, and she clearly needs time to process this.

“Right,” she says after a while. “But who even wants worms, anyway?”

John snorts. “You're not wrong,” he says. “I guess you'll just have to share your secret for sleeping this long.”

“You call this long? I could have slept until ten easily!”

“You didn't have to get up for me,” John says.

“I have a really handsome man in my apartment, making me breakfast. You really think I could sleep through that?”

“I would have waited for you,” John shrugs.

“And I'm glad,” Clarice says. “But I'm up now. And this is good,” she nods toward her eggs.

“I'd better warn you, this is about as far as my culinary skills go.”

Clarice shrugs. “I've been told mine are abysmal, so don't count on me to make you nice little dishes.”

“I wasn't,” John smiles. “I guess we'll just have to rely on takeaway.”

Clarice laughs. They haven't talked about the future, or even about officializing their relationship yet, and neither of them currently earns enough to eat takeaway every day, so it's just an offhand comment they can joke about. But John realizes he does want to know where they stand with each other.

“So,” he starts. “Last night was−”

“Really nice,” Clarice says enthusiastically.

John nods. “It really was. Does that mean you want to−”

“Do it again?”

They both laugh when they realize that Clarice is finishing John's sentences without thinking.

“Do you?” John asks.

“I'm in if you are,” Clarice says.

John smiles and leans in to kiss her. She smells like eggs and morning breath−he couldn't tell what she tastes like if he tried.

“Definitely,” he says when they pull apart.

“More coffee?” John offers when he notices both of their mugs are empty.

“Sure.”

John stands up to get the pot from the counter, using the bar as a crutch, and he doesn't miss Clarice's curious glance to his legs.

“You don't have your braces on,” she remarks.

“No. They're not practical without shoes on, and I didn't want to track dirt all over your apartment.”

“You could've. I wouldn't mind.”

“I didn't really need them anyway,” John says.

“You're in pain, though,” Clarice says.

“How−”

“I've seen you wince every time you move since I got up.”

“Yeah,” John admits. “But there's not much to do about it, and the braces wouldn't help.”

“Is it because of something that we...did?” Clarice asks almost fearfully.

“No, no,” John reassures her. “My back just acts up sometimes.” He leaves out his nearly sleepless night, because it's certainly not Clarice's fault.

Clarice nods thoughtfully. “You were acting like this at the party, too. I can see it now. How did I miss it?”

“You know what to look for now,” John answers. He's not very comfortable talking about this, but it was bound to come up.

“I don't even know what I was thinking, trying to hide it from you,” he adds. “I mean, it obviously wasn't going to last, and I know I shouldn't be ashamed of it.”

“We can't always control what we're ashamed of.”

“No. But I guess...I was always taught, one way or another, to hide any vulnerability, anything that made me different, so that's probably where that comes from. I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

John hesitates, then takes a breath. “As a kid, I grew into my mutation early on, at least the tissue density part, but my parents always made me hide I was a mutant at all. And later...in the Marines, they used my tracking, but I had to hide all of the downsides of, you know, enhanced senses. As a mutant in the military, you're not allowed to have any weaknesses, or they just...crush you.”

“It was that bad?”

John shrugs. “It was...complicated. Anyway, I guess that's why I thought I could just not tell you.”

“I hope you feel that you can share this with me now, that you know it's not going to...scare me away, or make me think less of you, or whatever it is that you're afraid of.”

“I'm not afraid−” John starts, automatically defending himself. He realizes how pointless that is and tries again. “It has very little to do with you, you know that? You've been incredibly accepting and great about this. I don't want you to think that you're not doing enough or something.”

Clarice nods. “You need time, I can understand that.”

“Something like that,” John answers. “Lorna said you probably have questions.”

“Really? She told you that?”

“She wanted me to know that she's told you she's bipolar and I didn't have to worry about skirting around it with you.”

“Yes. I'm honored she trusted me with that.”

John smiles. “Lorna doesn't give her trust or her friendship easily. But when she does, she's like...a bottle of ketchup. It comes all at once.”

Clarice snorts. “That's your analogy? A bottle of ketchup?”

“She'd probably try to strangle me if she heard,” John laughs. “But anyway, I wanted to say you can ask me. My legs, my disability and what it entails, it's something that I'm open to talk about. I don't want it to become some kind of taboo between us.”

“Thank you,” Clarice says. “For saying that. I don't want to...be insensitive, or make you dig up things that you don't want to.”

“I can tell you if that happens. But don't worry too much.”

“Okay,” Clarice nods. “I'll try. We talked about it with Lorna because I saw the article in the backroom. The one about the center.”

“Ah. Yes. I try to take it down and it keeps reappearing.”

“You probably have Lorna to blame for that. I got the feeling that she's quite attached to it.”

“I know,” John says. “So am I, to be honest, but it doesn't need to be on the wall.”

“You were afraid of me finding it?”

“At first, when I didn't know you, it was just a piece of my history that I didn't really want on display. But this article… On bad days, it reminds me that I haven't been completely useless since I came back, that I'm not just a burden on everyone. I mean, Lorna would probably have kept the center afloat even if I hadn't been there, but−”

“You're not a burden, John.”

“So they keep telling me. But let's face it, I've been crashing at my friends' for nearly ten months, they even had to modify their apartment for me, I still don't have a real job, I'm spending my days in their café bingeing on free coffee… It's not where I thought I'd be a year ago.”

“You've also been working hard to get back on your feet, literally, you've saved the center, you give classes to mutant kids to learn to control their powers… It's a lot, John. It may not feel like it, but it is.”

John sighs and leans back into his seat. “I guess,” he says, still doubtful.

“You're not a burden,” Clarice repeats.

“Fine. Are you done eating or do you want more eggs?”

Clarice lets the blatant change of subject slide, and John is grateful. “I'm good,” she says. “Thank you. Do you want to take a shower?”

John only hesitates briefly before he tells her the truth. His first instinct is to evade, but it's not what he wants their relationship to be. “I would, but I can't use your shower,” he says. “I need a seat, or at least shower bars.”

“Oh. Of course, I didn't think of that,” Clarice says, without missing a beat. “Do you want to go to your place so you can take one?”

John thinks about it. “Spending the night at your place after a date… Marcos and Lorna are going to be insufferable. Or Lorna will anyway. But I guess there's no point in delaying the inevitable.”

“Want me to come? We could spend the day together somewhere.”

“Now how can I say no to that?” John smiles.

“You aren't supposed to say no,” Clarice replies with a smirk. “It's settled then. I'll take my shower and we can go.”

She disappears into the bathroom, so John busies himself with clearing the dishes. It doesn't take long, fifteen minutes later Clarice emerges fully dressed, with clothes more relaxed than yesterday's.

John puts on his braces and shoes and doesn't hesitate long on leaning on his cane. It's here now, she's seen it, so there's no point in trying to hide, and his back is sore enough that he needs it today.

“I'm not making you walk down the stairs this time,” Clarice says, gathering her keys and sunglasses.

“I can do it,” John answers almost reflexively. It's a terrible idea. Going up the stairs was painful, but going down, he's more likely to fall than anything. The braces and his legs' lack of coordination don't give him enough flexibility to do stairs safely.

“But you don't have to,” Clarice points out. “And again, I won't think any less of you because of it.”

“Okay,” John relents.

“Just let me run downstairs, and I'll make a portal for you to come through,” Clarice says.

“You can't do it from here?”

Clarice falters. “I could−” she starts.

“You want to check first that the lobby is empty,” John understands. “Okay, let's do it that way.”

“It's just that… The landlord is mutant-friendly, but the other tenants already give me a wide berth because of my...you know, my appearance, so I'd rather not give them more reason to−”

“Clarice, it's fine, I understand. Plus it's your place, so we do things your way.”

“It's not about you,” Clarice still rambles on nervously. “It's about the portals.”

“I know.” John takes Clarice's shoulder, trying to snap her out of her anxious loop. “I get it. I really don't mind.”

Clarice looks up at him. “Thank you,” she mutters, embarrassed.

“No, thank _you_ ,” John corrects her. “For doing this for me.”

She nods, gives him one more look, then puts on her sunglasses and walks out.

John waits for several minutes, frowning at his watch, before he sees a purple ring form into the air. He looks into it curiously, and finds himself staring at the entrance to the lobby.

“Sorry. I'm a bit out of practice,” Clarice's voice says. John can't see her, so he assumes she's on the other side of the portal somehow. “Wait until it's larger than you to come through.”

John waits obediently, watching the ring grow until it reaches his height.

“Now you can come,” Clarice says. John steps through carefully. He turns back just in time to see Clarice with her hands stretched out, and the purple loop disappear.

“Well, that was impressive,” he says.

“No, it wasn't. It took me way too long.”

“It looked impressive to me,” John says. “You got me from your apartment to here, instantly...I knew you could do it, but seeing it is amazing.”

“It's easier when there's...danger. Adrenaline,” Clarice says.

“Yes, it makes sense. You've always used it to get out of bad situations, so that's when it comes naturally. You need to associate it with positive emotions if you want it to get easier.”

John realizes a little belatedly that he's started talking to her like to one of his students. “Sorry,” he adds. “I'm not trying to tell you what to do.”

Clarice nods. “You think I need training,” she says.

“I think it could help, yes. There aren't many mutants with a power as strong as yours. If you could hone it−”

“Then what? What am I supposed to do with it?”

John deflates, and sighs. “I don't know,” he says. “I...I still tend to think in terms of combat situations, but you're right. It's your power. It shouldn't be used for anything you're not comfortable with.”

Clarice nods. “I'm sorry, but for now I've got other things to think about than training.”

“Of course. But thank you. For going to the trouble just for me,” John says. He turns and starts walking toward the exit, unsettled by the conversation.

“John!” Clarice calls, easily catching up with his slower pace. “I'd do it a thousand times for you.”

John stops and turns back toward her. “Would you?” he asks, a smile on his lips.

“All things considered, a thousand might be more than I can handle. At once, anyway. But...a few more times...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! A bit of fluff with a few serious conversations interspersed can't hurt. There will be a little more drama soon.
> 
> Please tell me what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a late update, thank you for your patience. And if you're waiting for updates on my other stories, I'm going to have to ask you to be even more patient. Going through a rough patch of RL. Thankfully I have a few chapters of this fic in advance.

John and Clarice are welcomed into John's apartment by an enthusiastic Zingo. Clarice pets her while John props his cane against the wall and invites her in.

“Ah, we were wondering if we were going to see you today.”

Clarice looks up from Zingo's fur to see Lorna greet John, a smirk on her face. “Hi, Clarice,” she adds, her smirk growing even more.

Marcos is behind her, sitting at the table in front of a laptop.

“We were looking over the café's expenses and she's bored,” he says to Clarice with a wink. “Ignore her.”

“I thought John did the books?” Clarice asks.

“We can't let him do _everything_ ,” Marcos says.

“We should,” Lorna says. “It's annoying. And he likes it.”

“Do I?” John asks, feigning innocence.

“I'm pretty sure he only does it for free because he thinks he should be paying us back for living here, Lorna,” Marcos says.

“I know, I'm just teasing,” Lorna says. “And you don't owe us anything, John.”

“We've had this conversation before,” John sighs.

“And we'll probably have it again,” Marcos says. “But not right now. Poor Clarice doesn't need to listen to this. You guys had a nice evening?”

Clarice wonders if he's teasing them as well, but there's nothing but kindness in his voice, and teasing is more Lorna's department.

“We really did,” she says, looking at John for confirmation.

“Better than nice,” John says. Lorna smirks again, but he gives her a friendly glare, and she doesn't comment. “But I'm actually here to take a shower, so I'll go do that. You okay here with these two?” he asks Clarice.

“Of course.”

It could have been weird, finding herself suddenly in the house of her employers, who happen to live with the man she just spent the night with. But it's not, because Marcos and Lorna have always been friendly beyond the bonds of a purely professional relationship, and they're truly on their way to becoming close friends.

John limps to his bedroom and, a few minutes later, into the bathroom with an armful of fresh clothes. Marcos waves Clarice over to the table and she sits beside him.

“You want something to drink while you wait?” Lorna asks her.

“Sure,” Clarice says. “Whatever you have.”

“I was about to make myself some coffee to wake up a bit more,” Lorna says. “Mornings are a bit complicated for me these days.”

“Morning sickness?” Clarice asks. She's noticed that Lorna rarely comes down to the café before ten recently.

“Yes, and I'm pretty tired. But I've been told it's all normal.”

“I could use some coffee too,” Clarice says. “I got up way too early.”

“Oh, you've discovered John-o'clock in the morning,” Marcos laughs. “On a Sunday. Poor you.”

Clarice snorts at the pun. “I'm pretty sure he let me sleep in,” she says. “How he gets enough sleep to function−”

“He doesn't,” Lorna says. “He just runs on too little sleep until his body can't function anymore. He's been like that for as long as I remember.”

“What happens when he crashes?”

Lorna shrugs. “I hope you don't get to see, but you probably will.”

Clarice doesn't push, sensing a touchy subject.

“By the way, I wanted to ask you something,” Lorna says. “With the weather getting warm again, Marcos and I have been thinking about doing a picnic one of these days. It's a bit of a tradition, we've done it with just the two of us and John whenever he was stateside for the last few years. We have this spot that we love by a lake outside the city. We were wondering if you'd like to come too.”

“It sounds nice,” Clarice says. “If John−”

“I haven't really checked with him, but I'm sure he'll want you to come”, Lorna interrupts her. “And you're not _just_ his girlfriend. To us, I mean. It wouldn't really be like a double date, just a nice time out as friends.”

“Then sure,” Clarice nods.

“Between the café and the center, the only day we all have free is Sunday,” Marcos says. “We're flying out to Lorna's aunt next weekend, but the Sunday after that? Are you free?”

“I don't have anything planned,” Clarice says.

“Then it's settled,” Lorna says.

“Don't you need to check with John first?” Clarice asks, amused.

“Not if he's taking a ridiculous amount of time in the shower.”

Clarice laughs, then frowns when she remembers why he couldn't take a shower at her place.

“Do you know how I can get, um, accommodations installed in my bathroom?”

“Wow, you already want to do that for him?” Lorna raises her eyebrows.

“I don't have a lot of money, but−”

“Relax, I'm just teasing you. But I'm genuinely impressed. Listen, the best advice I can give you is to ask John what could be useful to him. It's unlikely that your bathroom can be made fully wheelchair-accessible, but he doesn't necessarily need that. And if you need bars installed, I can do that for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Clarice turns to see John come out of the bathroom, wearing a tee-shirt at least a size to small for his upper body shape, his hair wet. She can't help her eyes going to his muscular arms, admiring the view, though she had plenty of time last night to explore his body.

“I was wondering about making my bathroom accessible to you,” Clarice says.

“Clarice, you shouldn't do that for me,” John shakes his head, dropping onto a chair. “It's too much.”

“It seems like a reasonable way to make my place more welcoming to you. I want you to come back there, but if you can't use the bathroom−”

“It's just the shower, and it's okay. I could probably just bring a stool that can get wet.”

“Doesn't the seat need to be fixed to the wall?” Lorna asks.

“Only when I needed to transfer from the wheelchair,” John answers, a little uncomfortably. Clarice isn't sure if it's because this conversation is happening in front of Lorna and Marcos, or if he's still hesitant to be open with her about this.

“I can get a new stool,” Clarice says. “What about bars?”

“Seriously, Clarice, this is unnecessary,” John says.

“I want to do it. Now that we've sort of solved the stairs issue, don't you want to keep coming over?”

It will be easier if John doesn't have to come back here to shower, for sure. As for spending the night here, Clarice doesn't think she's ready to do it in the next room to Lorna and Marcos's. That's the issue with roommates.

“Yeah, I do,” John concedes.

“Then it's settled,” Lorna says excitedly. “I'll get some metal and we can come over to your place sometime to install those bars.”

John rolls his eyes, but gives up on protesting. Clarice gives Lorna a bright smile, then turns a more unsure one toward John. Is he actually upset about her wanting to do this for him? He gives her a reassuring nod and she relaxes. He's not angry with her.

“We were saying that we could do that picnic on Sunday after next,” Marcos says.

“Sounds good,” John says. “Wait, you've already invited Clarice?”

“You were taking ages in the shower!” Lorna exclaims.

“You could at least have let me explain. Clarice, you don't have to come if you don't want to. I know those two can be a little...overwhelming.”

“You mean friendly?” Lorna snorts, at the same time as Clarice says, “I'm game if you want me.”

“I'd love for you to come,” John answers her, ignoring Lorna. “I just don't want you to feel pressured or anything.”

“Don't worry, I'm not,” Clarice smiles. She turns back to Marcos. “So you said you were flying out next weekend?”

“Yes, to Lorna's aunt,” Marcos answers.

“She lives up in Virginia,” Lorna explains. “She raised me. I don't go back there often, but I want to see her before the baby's born.”

“Of course,” Clarice says. “You two have a good relationship?”

“We do now,” Lorna says. “We had a rough patch when I was a teenager, and we didn't really speak for a few years after I graduated. But we've been calling each other a lot more since I got pregnant. She never carried children of her own, but she's happy that she's going to be a great aunt, or really a grandmother. She's the only grandparent this kid will have, so I'd like them to know her.”

“You don't have any family?” Clarice asks Marcos.

“Not really. My parents are both dead. I probably have some siblings still back in Bogota, but I never really knew them. I was the oldest by several years, and they threw me out when I was thirteen.”

“And my parents died in a car crash when I was little,” Lorna says. “Well, my mother and step-father, anyway. My birth father is...uh, it's complicated.”

Clarice blinks at that, but doesn't asks questions Lorna obviously doesn't want to answer. “Were any of them mutants?” she asks instead.

Lorna and Marcos look at each other, communicating something Clarice doesn't understand.

“Like I said, it's complicated,” Lorna answers. “But my mother was human, and so is my aunt.”

“My parents thought mutants were servants of the devil,” Marcos says sarcastically. “It's actually ironic that my power affects light. In terms of religious symbolism, it's...interesting. You know, Lucifer, angels, all that.”

“My parents are human too,” John says quietly. Clarice notes the present tense and realizes that she doesn't know anything about his family. “But my little brother is a mutant.”

“I didn't know you have a brother,” Clarice says.

“I haven't seen him in a long time. I haven't been home since I got to the Institute.”

“The Institute?”

“The high school I went to, Xavier's School. But we always called it the Institute. That's where Lorna and I met,” John answers.

“It's a school for mutants,” Lorna adds. “In Westchester, NY.”

“You went to a school for mutants?” Clarice asks.

She's never even heard of such a school. It must be private and expensive, most likely. John and Lorna don't _seem_ to come from wealthy families, but who knows, after all. She knows nothing of their backgrounds. She feels a strange rush of envy, she who had to deal with being shunned and expelled multiple times from local public schools because of her very visible mutation.

“Yeah, it was a good place,” John says. He must sense her discomfort, because he changes the subject. “Anyway, I haven't been back to the Nation since I was fourteen. I don't even know for sure if my parents and James are still there.”

So he grew up on a Nation, which was most likely not rolling in money. She'll have to ask him, some day, how he ended up in a private school in New York, but not right now, not in front of Marcos and Lorna.

“I never knew my parents,” she says instead. “My mother dropped me off in an orphanage when I was a baby. I have her name, but she died years ago.”

“Do you know anything else about her? Or your father?” Lorna asks.

“Not really. She was definitely a mutant, on the one picture I've seen she had nearly purple skin. That's all I have. I grew up in foster care.”

“My...birth father was a mutant, too,” Lorna says. “It's very likely that our kid will be as well,” she changes the subject, putting a hand on her belly, which is just starting to swell.

“I try to imagine what power they'll have, sometimes,” Marcos adds, “but I don't want to fixate my mind on an idea. It's going to be fantastic whatever it is.”

“A mix between your powers would be quite something,” Clarice says.

“Wait, you've never seen them kiss, have you?” John asks her.

“What?”

“We, uh...when we get emotional about each other while touching, our powers mix in a weird way and make an _aurora borealis,”_ Lorna explains.

“What's that?”

“Like the Northern Lights.”

“Wow,” Clarice says.

“It sounds really cheesy said out loud,” Marcos laughs.

“Or romantic. I've never heard of people mixing their powers before.”

“Sometimes siblings can do it,” John says. “But it's rare.”

“Our powers put together create the exact conditions for an aurora,” Lorna says. “Even similar abilities are always different in some way, so getting the perfect fit like us doesn't happen often. It's a...happy coincidence. Although it's completely useless except aesthetically.”

“I'm not sure I believe in soulmates,” Marcos says, “but if I did I'd take it as a sign.”

“That's way too cheesy,” Lorna says. “There's a pretty simple physics explanation.”

“What, for us meeting and deciding to try kissing?” Marcos teases.

Lorna smiles and leans in to kiss him. Clarice can just see the hint of green and pink light starting to dance around them before Lorna pulls away with a grimace.

“I am _not_ putting on a show,” she says. “No disrespect, Clarice, but this feels too much like we're doing it for an audience.”

“I get it,” Clarice laughs. “I guess I'll just have to wait until I catch you in the backroom.”

She's surprised herself at how easy the banter is. She's listened to the three of them interact in this way before, in the café, but she's never yet felt comfortable joining in.

“What? We don't−” Lorna interrupts herself at John's snort.

“Sure you don't,” he says. “Even if I didn't walk in on you at least once a week, I can hear you, remember?”

“Uh, Lorna, I guess he has a point,” Marcos says. “We'll have to be quieter.”

“Or we could just invite him in, since he likes listening so much,” Lorna deadpans. She gives Clarice a side glance to check that she's not taking it seriously, and Clarice cracks up.

“I'd watch _that_ ,” she says.

It's all it take for the four of them to burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter. It wasn't completely planned, but I wanted to see Marcos and Lorna a bit more because the next few chapters will be very Thunderblink-centered.
> 
> Tell me what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, so soon after the last one, owing to the fact that I can't seem to make progress on my other fics. We're heading into a slightly darker arc for the next few chapters, I hope you enjoy this too.

B efore he even gets out of bed, John knows it's going to be a bad day. He's spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain. His legs started spasming randomly sometime in the early hours of the morning, and  by the time he normally gets up, he's spent. 

He gives up on any semblance of normalcy and dry swallows his pain pills, hurting too much to bother with getting up for water. They don't do much more than take the edge off,  though.  D espite staying as still as possible, John feels the spasms getting worse, not better.

He eyes his alarm clock when there is a knock on his door. He should have been up over an hour ago and it's almost time for Lorna and Marcos to head down to the café.

“John? You up?” Marcos asks through the door.

John sighs, trying to sit up without triggering his back.

“Come in,” he says.

The room is dark, the blinds still down. John looks away from the door when Marcos opens it and light floods in, waiting until his eyes start to adjust to look at his friend.

“John, what's wrong?” Marcos asks, coming closer.

“Just a bad day,” John says, looking down. “Legs have been seizing up all night. I overdid it in PT yesterday.”

He's grateful Marcos doesn't try to scold him−he doesn't need to be told he should be more careful. Instead, his friend stays on the practical side of things.

“What do you need?”

John sighs. He doubts he can walk at all right now, but he does need the bathroom. “Can you get my chair closer?”

“Sure,” Marcos says.

He goes to open the blinds first to see where he's going, then he gets the wheelchair from it's spot by the desk. It's hasn't been long since John stopped keeping it close enough to the bed to reach it, and right now he doesn't know whether to curse himself for thinking he didn't need it anymore, or be proud of the progress.

“Thanks,” John says, still not looking at him. He shouldn't be this ashamed of something he can't control, not after nearly ten months, but the more he recovers, the worse he feels about needing any kind of help.

“You sure you want to get up?” Marcos asks.

“No. But I really need to pee, so I don't have much of a choice.”

“Alright,” Marcos nods. “You need any help with that?”

“No thanks,” John says dryly, finally looking up. It's less of a joke between them than it should be, because Marcos was the one who helped him with that kind of things when John first moved in, but it still makes Marcos smile a little.

In one smooth move, John transfers from the bed to the wheelchair, but he nearly groans out loud at the pain. He's only wearing boxers and a tee-shirt, his braces discarded to the floor beside his shoes. With a grimace of distaste, he uses his hands to maneuver his legs into the chair, something that he hasn't had to do in a while.

“Is it just your legs?” Marcos asks, frowning at how carefully John bends down.

“Back's not great either,” John admits. “I'll be okay, I think, just need to take it slow.”

“That's more than just taking it slow, John. You think you need to see your neurologist?”

“No,” John shakes his head. “I'll call Sharon later to see what she thinks, but I'm pretty sure I just overdid it. It's not exactly the first time.”

“If you're sure,” Marcos says, still doubtful. They're getting used to John being better. In the first couple of months after his injury, this would have been a good day.

At a look from John, Marcos backs out of the room to give him some privacy. John extends his perception just enough to see that Lorna is still waiting in the kitchen, though they should have been down to the café ten minutes ago.

“Is he okay?” she asks in a low voice. John shakes his head as he wheels himself backwards into the bathroom. They should know by now that he can hear them from here−it occasionally gets embarrassing.

“Bad day, apparently,” Marcos answers.

Lorna sounds just as worried. “Do you think he needs one of us to stay today?”

“I doubt he'll accept if we offer.”

“I know.”

“We'll just be downstairs anyway, maybe we can run up every few hours to check on him.”

“Okay,” Lorna says.

They still wait until John wheels out of his room, dressed in sweat pants and a fresh tee-shirt, though he hasn't found the strength to shower.

“Hey,” Lorna greets him.

“Hey,” John answers, not meeting her eyes. “Shouldn't you guys be downstairs already?”

“Heading there,” Marcos says. “You need anything before we go?”

“Just take Zingo out? I'm good,” John says. “Seriously, don't worry about me, okay?”

“John−” Lorna starts.

“Lorna, please don't.”

“Okay,” Lorna says sadly. “Just...get some rest, alright?”

John nods. “I promise.”

 

Once Lorna and Marcos are both out of the apartment, John releases his tight control to let himself slump in the chair a bit. He hasn't been in this much pain in a while.

He needs to take the rest of his pills beside the painkillers, including muscle relaxants that should help with the spasms. He really shouldn't take them on an empty stomach, which is the only reason he's not already back in bed. Just sitting upright is taking most of his energy right now.

Most of the kitchen is still arranged so he can get at the important things−food and utensils−from his chair. John thanks the heavens for that, because he doesn't think he could stand up if he tried. His left leg is spasming like crazy, and his back is on fire.

He manages to find some bread, but he rethinks his original intent to toast it when he sees that the toaster is just out of his reach. Marcos and Lorna were very careful, back when he was still using his wheelchair full time, to keep everything where he could reach it, but they haven't needed to keep it up in months. John puts a couple of dry bread slices and a glass of water on his lap instead and heads back to his room.

Once back on the bed, he arranges a couple of pillows behind his back and eats a slice, almost choking it down because the pain makes him too nauseous to appreciate the food. He shakes pills out of the too numerous bottles in his nightstand drawer and swallows them.

It's one of those days where he can't find a comfortable position to be in. His aching spine, and specifically the piece of metal digging into his vertebra, makes it hard to lie on his back, but his legs are spasming too much for anything else. John sighs and resolves himself to a painful morning. He loosens up a little as the muscle relaxants kick in, but they don't do much more than make his head fuzzy.

He must have spaced out, because he startles at his phone buzzing on the nightstand. The clock tells him it's been half-an-hour since Marcos and Lorna left. It also means that Clarice's shift started ten minutes ago, and a quick check tells him she's the one texting him.

_Are you okay? I was surprised not to see you this morning._

John sighs. He's been there for the start of every Wednesday morning shifts so far, so it's not surprising that she would be expecting him.

_Not feeling well,_ he answers after a moment's reflection.  _Stayed upstairs._

Even admitting this much is hard, but it's not like he can lie. Or wants to.

_Marcos said. It's quiet without you down here._

It's breakfast time at the café, so John doubts it's actually quiet, but she's finding the time to text him anyway.

_Miss you too_ , he answers.

Ten minutes later, he gets another text.  _I hope it's okay to ask, but do you think I could come up to see you on my lunch break?_

It takes John like a punch in the gut. He's not entirely sure if it's because she already cares enough to ask something like this−and worry how he might take it−or if it's his own insecurities talking. Can he really let her see him like this? She hasn't seen him during a bad day yet, and this is his worst in weeks.

John agonizes over it for a while. He hates admitting any kind of weakness, let alone showing it. Yet if his relationship with Clarice is going to continue, he'll have to let her in at some point. And he could really use something to take his mind off the pain.

_Sure,_ he answers. _Just a warning, I'm not good company today._

_I can deal with that,_ Clarice sends back. John hopes she understands what she's getting herself into.

For the rest of the morning, John alternates between fretting over Clarice's visit and slipping into  a  pain killer -induced doze. He doesn't take another dose  of muscle relaxant s though ,  he wants to be clear-headed  and at least able to move a little  when Clarice comes up. 

Marcos runs up quickly around ten  under the excuse that Zingo is bored down in the café  and would be better up here , but John sees  right through it. Marcos and Lorna are both worried for him.  And John hates it. He hates worrying his friends, and he hates seeing the sorrow in their eyes. There's been far too much of this in the last  ten months.

It prompts him to phone his physical therapist,  as he promised . Sha nn on tells him to take it easy and take a  a few days off,  no more than he expected .  John likes her no-nonsense persona, because she's the only person in his life currently who doesn't treat him like he's fragile.

W ell, along with Clarice. Which brings him back to the problem at hand. Clarice reacted well to everything he's told her so far, about his injuries and  even his PTSD, but she hasn't actually seen  most of it. It's one thing to hear about someone's issues, but John can't help waiting for her to run away the moment she sees what he's really dealing with. What he's become.

He's already made the decision, so he hopes for the best and steels himself for the worst.  Zingo hasn't left his side since Marcos brought her back up, lying on the bed beside him, so he buries one hand in her fur, trying to take his mind off his apprehension.

When the  muscle relaxant starts wearing off, the pain rears its ugly head again, in the form of renewed cramps in his left leg.  John gives up on his idea of going over to the couch to welcome Clarice and stays in bed. It makes him feel even more vulnerable,  but it's the better choice right now.

“Come in!” he shouts when Clarice knocks at the front door, fairly sure that Marcos left it unlocked.

“John?” Clarice calls.

“In here.” John sits up straighter against the pillows, wincing when it pulls at his back.

Clarice comes in carrying a tray. “Hey,” she says. “I brought some lunch.”

“Hey,” John answers. “Sorry I couldn't come to the door.”

“Don't be. Can I put this here?” Clarice asks, waving her chin toward the end of the bed. When John nods, she puts down the tray and sits carefully on the empty space, beside Zingo who has fallen asleep.

John is glad she doesn't lean in for a kiss, because he doesn't think his back could have handled the move. She puts a hand on his arm instead. “How are you doing?”

“I'm okay,” John says. “Just…” he looks down. His still spasming left leg is hidden under the covers. “Legs aren't obeying too well today. I probably overdid it.”

Clarice nods. “I see. Anything I can do?”

“Not much to do but wait it out,” John says. “It's nice to have some company though.”

“I brought some food. I took something plain, because I thought you might be sick or something. So it's chicken sandwiches.”

“Thanks,” John says. He still hasn't managed to eat his second slice of bread from this morning, but it's nice of her. “I think I'll wait a bit. But go ahead and eat.”

“You sure?” Clarice asks, frowning. “Is there something wrong? Beside−”

John sighs. “Just nauseous. It'll pass.”

“Are you actually sick?”

Clarice looks so worried that John doesn't have the heart to lie, or even evade any longer. He still doesn't look at her when he answers. “No. My leg keeps spasming and the pain makes me nauseous.”

“Oh,” Clarice says, her face falling a bit. “I'm sorry.”

“Not your fault,” John says−it's become his go-to answer to all the people who express pity the last few months. He'd just hoped not to get it from Clarice too.

“No, I meant I shouldn't be pressing you for answers. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to.”

So she's picked up on his hesitation. John nods, relenting. She's good at this.

“It's fine,” he says. “It's just been...hard. To admit all the things I can't do anymore.”

“I get it. You don't want to need help, to depend on someone else. But it's okay, you know. I'm not going to slip through your fingers.”

John lets out a laugh. “I sure hope not,” he says, trying to sound more confident than he really is.

Clarice smiles and picks up her sandwich, but she hesitates before biting into it.

“Go on,” John tells her. “Your break isn't long, and you need to eat before you go back to work.”

“You'll eat later?” she asks.

“Yeah,” John nods, although he's not at all sure it's a promise he can keep.

Seeing the look of worry on Clarice's face, he starts to regret letting her come up at all.

“Clarice, I'll be alright,” he says, wishing he could be more assertive. It's hard to focus through the pain, and he knows he must sound tired and weak.

Clarice hangs her head. “I'm sorry,” she says. “It's just...I don't like seeing you in pain?”

John bites his lip. He has no right to be annoyed at her for that. “I know,” he says as a peace offering.

“Does this happen often?” Clarice asks. Her eyes stray toward his wheelchair, still close to the bed. John realizes this is the first time that she's seen it.

“Not so much anymore,” he says. “Thankfully.”

He doesn't want to remember when this much pain was his baseline, and he didn't know if he would have to live with it for the rest of his life. Days like this may highlight what he can't do anymore, but they also remind him how far he's come.

“Is it because we did too much this weekend, or−” Clarice starts fearfully.

“No,” John laughs. “I did walk a bit more than I should have, but it wasn't that.”

“The stairs at my place?”

“No, PT has been...intense, the last couple of weeks. I pushed myself too far. And it's just something that happens, you know. I could stay off my feet and still have a bad day.”

“Okay,” Clarice nods. She's trying and failing to keep the worry off her face, but John appreciates the effort.

“Come here,” he says, gesturing to the space at his side, when she puts down her half-eaten sandwich.

“You sure?”

“Yes. Come on.”

Clarice squats over until she's sitting beside him, careful not to touch him. John rolls his eyes and puts an arm around her shoulders. He gently starts playing with her hair while Clarice keeps looking at him uncertainly, until she groans in frustration and kisses him to get him to stop.

John doesn't let the agony in his back stop the kiss from deepening. He's careful not to move, or wince enough that Clarice will feel it, but he breathes through the pain and enjoys the moment as much as he can.

“See,” he says when they part. “I'll be just fine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a deeper insight into John's chronic pain and the consequences of his injuries... And Clarice being sweet and caring.
> 
> Tell me if you've enjoyed this chapter, I love hearing your opinion!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ableism from a stranger, including a slur. Talk of PTSD and mental health]
> 
> The aftermath of a bad day is...only slightly less bad.

Clarice has been worried about John all night, but he looks better the next day. He doesn't come down to the café, but he does welcome Clarice at the door when she walks up on her lunch break, again bringing sandwiches.

“Hi,” he says with a slightly strained smile. He takes a step back to let her in with her tray and Clarice sees that he's leaning heavily on his cane and on the door handle.

“Hey,” Clarice answers, hurrying to get inside so he doesn't have to stay on his feet for too long. “How are you doing?”

John doesn't respond before he's lead her to the living room, and he's sat down on the couch, adjusting the pillow behind his back. “Better than yesterday,” he answers.

“That's good,” Clarice says, a little hesitantly. John clearly hates people worrying about him, but it's impossible to just pretend that she can't see the lines of pain on his face, that his state yesterday didn't scare her.

Zingo welcomes Clarice by putting her paw on her lap and trying to lick her hands. “Hey, girl,” Clarice says. “Are you taking good care of your master?”

The dog sniffs her and lets out a huff.

“Is she?” she asks John.

“She keeps pestering me to go out,” John says. “Marcos took her for a walk this morning, but she needs more, apparently.”

“I can do it if you want,” Clarice offers.

“I'm not going to ask you to walk my dog on your lunch break,” John refuses. “No, I'll go later. I need some air too, to be honest.”

“If you can wait until my shift is over, we could go together.”

John hesitates for a short while, then nods. “Can you wait a couple of hours?” he asks Zingo, who comes over to sit on the couch beside him. “I'm sure she can,” he says to Clarice. “I think she just wants to play.”

“How old is she?” Clarice asks.

“A year and a half, more or less. She's a rescue, but we got her very young. Lorna decided that I needed something to cheer me up when I got out of the hospital.”

“A puppy?”

“I think she was thinking more of a support dog, but the waiting list for trained dogs is really long, and I...wasn't really on board. So she took me to the shelter and Zingo was there. We just clicked, I guess.”

“She seems very attuned to you,” Clarice remarks. “Beside wanting to go out when you're hurting.”

“We did our best to train her, but mostly she likes to comfort people,” John answers. “She likes you,” he adds. “She doesn't take to new people so easily, usually.”

“I like her too,” Clarice smiles. “I've always loved dogs.”

“Ever considered getting one of your own?”

“No. I've moved too much, and lived in pretty shitty places. I don't want to put a dog through that.”

“You shouldn't have had to go through it either,” John frowns.

“Yeah, well,” Clarice shrugs. “Things are pretty good now.”

John shifts on the couch. “I'm glad,” he smiles.

“There's still this...anxiety thing,” Clarice admits. “Lorna said something the other day, about telling each other about triggers and that kind of things so we know how to react when it happens.”

“Yes?”

“And after last time, I don't want to put you into the position of having to talk me through a panic attack again,” Clarice says, embarrassed. “So I thought...you should know more about it.”

“If you want to tell me, I'd like that,” John nods. “I was thinking about the same thing, really.”

“Okay. I'm not sure what to tell you exactly, because I don't really know myself why it happens. But it's...usually if I feel threatened by anti-mutants, or, you know, men… Sometimes the fear's completely irrational. The other time, the first time that we really talked? I forgot my sunglasses in my apartment. And that was it, really. Just people looking at me, maybe someone said something but I'm not even sure.”

Clarice takes a breath and closes her mouth, realizing that she's rambling.

“Just because it's irrational doesn't mean it's not valid,” John says.

It sounds like an inspirational quote from one of Clarice's activist forums, but hearing it from John gives it a different shape, for some reason.

“I guess,” she sighs. “It's just, I don't understand. Those Purifiers didn't even attack me, just my car. It was nothing. I've had people do way worse to me in the past, and this is what gets me?”

John looks at her for a moment before answering. “Trauma...it doesn't work like that. Maybe your anxiety was triggered by the attack, but it's not just about that. It's about all the other stuff that happened before, just piling up until it's too much. I know you had a hard time growing up.”

“But I mean, that's exactly the point! I'm in the best place I've ever been. So why does my brain think that's the right time to panic every other day?”

“Maybe it's _because_ you're in a safe place now? Before, you couldn't ever stop long enough to breathe. Now that it's okay to let go, your brain can't get out of danger mode?”

Clarice blinks. “That actually makes some sort of sense. Where did you get that?”

“My shrink,” John shrugs. “It's−it's the definition of PTSD, according to her.”

“But I don't have PTSD, just some anxiety,” Clarice frowns.

“Are you sure about that?”

Clarice bites her lip. “You went to war, and you saw things that I couldn't even imagine. I just got my car burned and had a few bad foster parents as a kid. You can't get PTSD from that.”

“Yes you can,” John says. “People usually think it only happens to soldiers or people who get brutally assaulted or something, but that's not how it works. It can be repeated abuse. Bullying. Oppression. I had PTSD long before I went to Afghanistan, Clarice. I'm not saying that you have it too, but−” he trails off.

“But you think it's possible,” Clarice finishes.

John nods.

Clarice averts her eyes, shaken. Is it really possible? Even if John is right that PTSD isn't just for soldiers, she's not that bad off. She's functioning just fine, even if she has occasional panic attacks.

Well, except for the times when she wakes up in the middle of the night and can't go back to sleep. Or the times she stays home because the thought of going out makes her hyperventilate. The invitations she's refused to stay locked up in her apartment. The moments when she suddenly sees the face of a foster father in her mind's eye, or a white cross on a hoodie, and suddenly she can't breathe.

“Clarice,” John calls softly. Clarice jumps, deep in her thoughts. “It's okay. It's okay if you do have it, and it's okay if you don't know. Just...remember that I'm here to talk, whenever you want.”

Clarice nods. “Thank you,” she says, a bit automatically because she's still too shaken to think.

“Come on, I'll show you something,” John says, painfully getting up.

“It doesn't have to be right now,” Clarice offers at his wince.

“It's okay, I'm good.”

John leads them to his bedroom, leaning heavily on his cane. He holds onto diverse pieces of furniture on the way, but shakes his head when Clarice offers her arm.

“I'm good,” he repeats.

Clarice frowns, but lets it go. John sits down on his bed with obvious relief and gestures to her to sit beside him. He opens his nightstand drawer and shows her the half-dozen bottles of pills in there.

“What are those?” Clarice asks. She can guess, but she'd rather make sure she understands.

“Meds I take. I want you to know about them.” He starts taking out bottles one by one. “Painkillers, backup painkillers, and muscle relaxants for when it gets really bad. Sometimes my legs or back start spasming like yesterday and there's just not a lot to do about it. Those...they're actually anti-anxiety meds.”

“You have−” Clarice waves vaguely. “That, too?”

“Not exactly, but I get...flashbacks, sometimes. They can be hard to shake off, so the meds help with that. And anti-depressants. Um...I was in a pretty bad place, for a while.”

Clarice nods. “I'm not going to judge you for that.”

“I can't really tell you about triggers, because they're very fickle. Some days it can be...anything, someone moving in another room or something. And some of it is related to the stuff that I haven't told you yet.”

“Right,” Clarice says. “I understand. You don't ever have to tell me if it's too hard, you know?”

“No, just...give me some time.”

“I'll wait as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” John sighs.

“No, thank _you_ ,” Clarice says. “For telling me all this.”

John catches her eyes and nods. “We should go eat before your break ends,” he says.

 

_I'll be up in five, I'm just finishing up,_ Clarice texts John at three, when her shift is scheduled to en d . Trying to shake of the pain haze that's been constant since yesterday, John  drags himself to his bedroom to get ready. He hesitates for a moment on taking his wheelchair, despite his apprehension of Clarice's reaction, but he puts on his braces instead. They're only going across the street anyway, and maybe walking will help with the relentless cramping in his left leg.

H e's ready when Clarice knocks on the door, forearm crutches in hand  and a new dose of painkillers  just taking effect . His pain level today calls for more than the cane, and his left leg is visibly dragging even with the brace on. Clarice  looks at the crutches, but she doesn't say anything.

“Do you mind taking Zingo?” John asks, handing her the leash. “She knows not to pull, but it will give her more freedom.”

“Of course,” Clarice answers.

“I'm not going to walk very fast,” John warns as they get into the elevator. For some reason, admitting that doesn't feel anywhere as daunting as it did just days ago, before their date at the botanical garden. Clarice is taking everything in stride, better than John could even have imagined−better than anyone since his injury. Even Marcos and Lorna, who are great about it most of the time, get impatient, or stifle him with their concern. They were here at his worst, and it changed their relationship. It's mostly for the better, but sometimes it's harder to talk to them than to someone who didn't know him before.

“We'll go as slow as you need,” Clarice says. “I don't mind at all.”

“Over here,” John says when Clarice automatically goes to the back door of the café. “There's a direct exit.” He'd rather avoid the café right now. It's not so much because of the stares he's sure to attract on crutches, but more because it's going to be noisy and high levels of pain make his senses overload.

“Of course, I should have guessed,” Clarice says, turning on her heels and following him. “There are other apartments in the building, and tenants don't pass through the café to go up.”

She opens the door for him and Zingo, who zips straight past John and only stop s running when  she r uns out of  leash  slack. 

“She was impatient to get out,” John smiles.

There are few people in the park, so Clarice lets Zingo go free. John fishes the dog's favorite ball out of his pocket and hands it to Clarice.

“Do you want to play with her? I sometimes do it from a bench, but she'll like it more if you can run with her.”

“Sure,” Clarice says. “But I'm sure she loves playing with you.”

“Go,” John urges her on instead of answering. “I'll be over there,” he motions toward a bench.

Even the short trip down has exhausted him. He takes a moment to breathe, trying to extend his left foot properly to get rid of yet another cramp,  while  watching Clarice throw the ball and Zingo bark happily.

“Hey, do you need help?” someone says suddenly from behind, grabbing his arm without warning. John jumps, suddenly alert, and almost overbalances to get rid of the hand touching him.

“Please let go,” he says through gritted teeth. The pain fog means his sensory input is all over the place, which is why he didn't hear the stranger approach. “I don't need help.”

The man doesn't listen. “There's a bench just here,” he says instead, now trying to drag John over. For once, John is grateful that his body density means he doesn't even budge.

“Let go of me,” he repeats with difficulty, all his focus on convincing his body not to react violently to the perceived assault.

The man finally removes his hand when it becomes apparent that his effort s to make John move are vain. “Man, you're strong,” he says.  “ So, what happened to you  anyway ? Did you break your leg or something? I sprained my knee skiing once, crutches are such a pain,”  he rambles  on , never giving John a chance to answer. 

Not that  John particularly wants to, because detailing his medical history to strangers is not his favorite pastime.  Instead, he starts walking away, slowly, cursing that he can't just escape and praying that the man won't try to get in his way again.

“Will you just leave me alone?” he asks, not particularly nicely, but he's done with this kind of people.

“Hey, there's no need to be rude, I was just trying to help!”

“Right,” John mutters.

“You people are so ungrateful!” the man spits. “I hope you enjoy your lonely, bitter cripple life!”

John raises an eyebrow at him as he walks away angrily.

“Okay,” he says, blinking. He turns to go sit on the bench, finally, and finds Clarice watching him from behind, looking shocked.

“That...escalated quickly,” she says, sitting down beside him.

“Yeah,” John shrugs, setting aside his crutches.

“You're not surprised,” she remarks. “Does that happen often?”

“Most people aren't as bad, but being grabbed by random strangers who think they're helping is quite common. It's worse with the wheelchair.”

“Wow. What was this guy even thinking?”

“I wouldn't know,” John laughs. He does feel shaken, if only because being touched without any warning is really unsettling. He's too used to insults to let them get to him, though those about his disability always hit him more than any other.

“I'm kinda glad I only get the slurs and not the...unwanted help,” Clarice deadpans.

John blinks at her. “Are you making a joke about  how screwed we both are ?”

“I guess?” Clarice shrugs. “It's as good a joke subject as any, right?”

Zingo comes running to bring her the ball back, and  Clarice coos and pets the dog while John ponders that. Clarice's sense of humor is snarky and sarcastic, and he loves it, but that particular  quip took him by surprise.

Clarice stands up to throw the ball again, laughing at Zingo's barks, and John smiles at the scene.

“Are you going to the center tonight?” she asks conversely, once she's sat back close to him. John puts an arm around her shoulders.

“Probably not,” John answers. “Lorna will cover for me.”

“How long does it usually last? Your...flares, or whatever it is.”

“It depends on...mainly on how much I've overdone it, and if I manage to rest properly. I've learned that pushing through is not a good idea.”

“So you're just in pain for days and there's nothing you can do about it?”

John shrugs. “It's better than it was, so maybe the pain will fade eventually. For now, that's about it, yes.”

“It was worse?” Clarice asks, wincing.

John just nods, unwilling to expand on it. “I'll rest for another day, and take it really slow on Saturday.”

“In PT?”

“And the classes. Lorna can't take the Saturday classes because she has one of hers at the same time.”

“Okay,” Clarice says. “Do you want me to leave you alone this weekend so you can rest?”

John shakes his head. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a huge favor.”

“What is it?”

“We have the youth club on Saturday afternoon, and we're short on staff. Sonya usually does most of the work, but she's got this big project so she hasn't been there for a few weeks. And Lorna and Marcos won't be there because they're going up to see Lorna's aunt for the weekend. So it's just me and Sage. It's enough to handle the kids, usually the youngest children have their parents with them, but if I can't move−”

“You want me to come,” Clarice understands.

“Only if you want to, of course,” John nods. “I don't want you to say yes if you're not comfortable with the idea. But it would really help.”

“Of course, I can come. I mean, it's a little daunting, to be honest, but I'm not too bad with kids. I had a lot of younger foster siblings.”

“Thank you,” John says. “It will help a lot.”

“Anything for you,” Clarice laughs, teasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It's quiet and simple, but it touches on some important themes.
> 
> The type of PTSD John and Clarice talk about, from repeated trauma, is usually called Complex PTSD, and it's more common than we usually think. Clarice probably does have it, at least I guess that's how I've been writing her.
> 
> Tell me what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quiet fluffly chapter in-between heavy discussions. I hope you like it.
> 
> A big thank you evening_spirit for getting me unstuck in this chapter and so many others and being an amazing sounding board on top of an amazing human being :)

“Thank you for picking me up,” Clarice tells Marcos when he pulls up in front of the mutant community center. “You didn't have to do that.”

“Your place is barely a detour, and I had to come get Lorna anyway,” Marcos says. “It's really no trouble.”

“I could have walked or caught a bus.”

“Are you thinking of getting a car?”

Clarice shrugs. “I don't need one that badly, and I'd rather use the money for something else, like saving toward a better place.”

And getting a car, even an old second-hand one, means having to worry about finding it burned down every morning. Flames and smoke dance in front of Clarice's eyes for a second, before she shakes her head to get rid of them.

“Clarice,” Marcos starts, hesitantly. “I know that only taking you on part-time means we don't really pay you a living wage. If you're struggling−”

“No, it's really not−” Clarice protests.

“When we advertised for the job, we thought we'd be employing a student, since we're so close to the university.”

“Marcos, don't feel guilty about that. You're paying me well above minimum wage, and I could look for another job. I haven't because I love the café, and you guys, but also because I don't think I _could_ work another job. There's just too much...let's just say I'm really grateful to have this.”

“Okay,” Marcos backs off, obviously sensing Clarice's reticence to say more. “The café's actually going better than expected, so when Lorna goes on pregnancy leave we might be able to take you on full time, if you want to.”

Clarice smiles at him. “Thank you.”

She'll reserve any hope for when it actually happens, and they find out whether she's capable of working full time, but it's nice to know Marcos and Lorna are thinking about it.

“Alright, Lorna should be done by now,” Marcos says. “You coming?”

Clarice looks at her watch. It's noon, and John's class ends now too. The youth club he asked her to help with doesn't start until two, but she promised to have lunch with him.

“Sure,” she says, getting out of the car.

They walk together to the back part of the building, when the classrooms and offices are. Clarice hasn't seen more of it than John's office and the staff break room he brought her to on their first date, but Marcos takes her past those, pausing to say hello to a few mutant adults in the corridor.

They find John and Lorna together in an open classroom. It's nothing like the classrooms Clarice has been to at school. There are no tables and the few chairs, beside the one John is sitting on, are pushed against the back wall. There are several mats in the middle of the room, which Clarice assumes are for self-defense practice, and she notices scorch marks on the floor.

Marcos knocks lightly on the open door and John looks up from his conversation with two teenagers.

“You're here,” he smiles at Clarice, with a nod to Marcos.

“Lorna, we need to go if we want to make our plane,” Marcos says, looking at the time on his phone.

“Sure,” Lorna nods. “Sorry guys, looks like I have to run,” she adds toward John and the young mutants.

“Go,” John tells her. “You don't want to be late.” He waits until Marcos and Lorna have walked out to wave Clarice closer. “Clarice, this is Naya and Skyler, two of my students. Clarice is my...girlfriend.”

Clarice notices John's hesitation and their eyes meet. They haven't defined their relationship yet, and it's the first time he's talked about her in these terms, as far as she knows. She nods her agreement with a smile.

“Hi,” she says to the two teenagers. “It's nice to meet you.”

The girl, who seems to be the oldest, shyly holds out a hand. Clarice shakes it and nods kindly to the boy, who can't be older than fourteen and is fidgeting nervously.

“It's nice to meet you too,” Naya says after a beat. “Is...is your hair color part of your mutation? It's beautiful.”

“Yes, it's all natural,” Clarice smiles. She's never been asked about her appearance before in a way that wasn't horribly awkward, or worse, despising. “I think it has something to do with this,” she adds impulsively, opening a small portal between her fingers to show off the purple light.

“Oh, that's so cute!” Naya exclaims. Skyler beside her looks more and more uncomfortable, trying to get her attention discreetly, but she doesn't notice. Instead she turns to the front of the room and moves a hand.

Water starts coming out vertically from a basin on the floor, against all laws of gravity. Clarice watches in fascination as it starts to turns and swirl in the air. It seems to go out of control for just and instant, before Naya twists her hand and the water obediently flows back into the basin.

“Nice,” Clarice says.

“That was a good show,” John coughs, with a hint of disapproval in his voice. “You're improving. We keep some water in here for her to train,” he explains to Clarice. “But it's not really meant for public displays.”

“Sorry,” Naya says sheepishly.

“Come on, she's proud of her mutation,” Clarice shrugs. “I would be too, if I could do something like that.”

John frowns, opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself as he eyes the kids.

“You two, you better go home for lunch before your parents start to worry,” he tells them.

“Yes,” Naya nods. “Come on, Skyler. We'll see you this afternoon?”

“We'll both be here,” John confirms.

The two teenagers walk out, excitedly talking to each other as soon as they're in the corridor. Clarice can't hear what they're saying, but John smirks.

“They're wondering if we live together,” he explains. “I guess meeting their teacher's girlfriend is a great chance for gossip.”

“They seem like good kids,” Clarice says. “What were you going to say?”

“Just that what you do is amazing too. Naya clearly thinks so, and she hasn't seen a full portal yet. Don't sell yourself short.”

“I just wanted to encourage her,” Clarice shrugs. “Why reprimand her for using her mutation?”

John shakes his head. “It wasn't because of that. I have to enforce pretty strict rules in class to keep everyone safe, since they're all teenagers with budding powers. It can get dangerous.”

“I see. I didn't mean to undermine your authority.”

“It's fine,” John says. “Naya is usually very responsible, and this wasn't a major breach. I don't enjoy restricting them, believe me, but we've had accidents before.”

“The scorch marks?”

John nods. “Among other things. Sometimes powers can clash pretty brutally.”

“How do you manage them?”

“Constant vigilance,” John answers. “It's only a couple hours a week, and the adult class is easier because most of them have some level of control over their powers already. And if something happens, my body is mostly impervious to...everything, really. Except for, you know, IEDs.”

Clarice raises an eyebrow at the awful joke.

“Sorry,” John smirks. “How about we go have lunch too?”

“Sure,” Clarice says.

John leans on the cane he's been twirling in his hand to stand up. He's walking a lot more easily than on Thursday, but Clarice still winces internally in compassion. The bags haven't disappeared from under his eyes, and despite the obvious effort he did tying his hair back and dressing up this morning, he still looks exhausted.

“Lorna made some chili last night and I brought the leftovers,” he says. “There's enough for two, so I thought we could share, if that's okay with you.”

“Good with me,” Clarice answers, relieved that he didn't plan on eating out.

She beats herself up in retrospect for not asking about it earlier. On her work days, she gets free lunch from the café's food, and she's used to eating with John, so she didn't even think about it.

While they haven't really spoken about money, John is the one doing the books for the café, which include Clarice's paychecks, and he must know she doesn't make enough for restaurant food. And having him pay for every meal they share would just be embarrassing, without even mentioning John must not make much more than her on a disability pension and whatever he earns for his work at the center.

They settle in the staff room to eat, where John heats Lorna's chili in the microwave. Clarice blushes as she remembers their first date, and the pizza they ate here after she got them kicked out of the restaurant.

They sit the same way, side by side on the couch, but this time Clarice doesn't hesitate to come closer until their shoulders touch.

“Wow, it's spicy,” Clarice exclaims, nearly spitting out her first bite of the chili.

“Oh God, Lorna must have added hot pepper for me,” John apologizes. “I'm sorry, I forgot to tell her that I would eat it with you. You okay?”

Clarice coughs and nods. “Why would she−do you always eat your food this spicy?”

“Chili is meant to be spicy,” John shrugs, not quite looking at her. There's something he's not telling her. What could be embarrassing to him about food?

“This is a bit...overboard,” Clarice says, her eyes tearing up. “I mean, I'm not really used to it. I could use some water right now.”

John rises immediately. “I'll go!” Clarice exclaims, standing up as well.

“It's fine,” John smiles at her, taking the few steps to the kitchenette area with barely a limp. He comes back with a glass full of tap water.

“Thank you,” Clarice says, taking it and emptying it in one go. The water feels soothing, but the burning feeling comes back the second she's swallowed it all.

“We can go get something else for you,” John says, sitting back down.

“No, I think I can eat this,” Clarice says on an impulse. “It's a good experience.”

John seems to really like spicy food, and she can at least try to relate with him. And she can see he's already beating himself up over this.

“Do Lorna and Marcos cook like this? I mean, I have no idea what Colombian food tastes like, but I guess it could be a bit like Mexican−” Clarice rambles.

“No,” John shakes his head. “Colombians rarely use hot peppers. Marcos likes it though, but not this spicy. Lorna always adds some extra for me.”

Eating from his own plate, he doesn't seem the least bit bothered by the hotness. Clarice gingerly tries another bite, and schools her face not to show any outward emotion.

It actually gets easier with each bite, as long as she doesn't stop eating. She more or less engulfs the chili, interspersing it with gulps of water. John watches her with some amusement and finishes his plate at a more reasonable pace.

“Hot pepper is...it's one of the only things I can taste,” John admits, his back to her, as he's washing their plates in the sink.

“What do you mean?”

“My sense of taste is very dull. It's part of my mutation, because my tongue is as dense as the rest of my body.”

Clarice lets that sink in for a moment. So that's what he was so embarrassed about. She can tell the confession is hard on him, although it seems like a fairly innocuous subject.

“Does it mean you can't enjoy food?” she asks, keeping her tone as light as possible.

“No, most of what we call taste is actually smell, and I can do that just fine. I just can't really tell if something is sweet or salty or whatever else. If it's spicy enough, I can actually feel it.”

“So that's why Lorna adds more spices for you.”

“Yes. I should told her not to this time, though.”

“It's okay,” Clarice says. “I ate it anyway, though I like it better a little less spicy. And I'm glad to learn this about you.”

John spins on the high stool he's sitting on to look at her, surprise on his face. “Seriously? It's nothing interesting.”

“Everything about you is interesting,” Clarice winks playfully, coming to stand beside him.

“That is very blatant flirting,” John raises his eyebrows.

“I was serious,” Clarice says, but she also bends down to kiss him lightly on the mouth. A deeper kiss with their mouths full of hot pepper is probably not a good idea, given that she feels the burn on her lips. Turning her back on John, she grabs a towel to dry their plates, not letting him touch her. “You're a very interesting person.”

“Is that what you're going with?”

“I have to get your attention somehow.”

“Oh, you have my full attention at all time,” John says.

“I thought you had to keep constant vigilance with your students.”

“Damn, maybe that's why Naya suddenly decided to break the rules. You distracted me and she got jealous.”

Clarice snorts. “I don't think you were the most distracted one in that room. The other kid−Skyler, is it?−he was redder than a lobster.”

“Ah, I was wondering if you'd noticed. He's a fourteen-year-old boy, and awfully shy to go with it. I think having to interact with a really hot mutant woman who happens to be my girlfriend was a bit much for him. I'm sure he'll get over it.”

“You intend on having me here often enough for that?” Clarice asks. That sticks with her more than the “really hot” part of his sentence, though she blinks at it.

“Only if you want to,” John says. “But this place is a pretty important part of my life.”

“I get that,” Clarice answers. “But that's exactly it. It's your thing. I don't want to impose myself.”

“I'm inviting you to. This is supposed to be a safe, fun place for mutants. If it can't be that for you, then I've failed.”

Clarice shakes her head. “That's not true. No place, even safe places, is good for everyone. I'm not the social type, you know?”

“Clarice,” John hesitates. “I don't want to overstep boundaries here, but how much of that is just anxiety? How much is really you?”

“No, I never enjoyed the big parties and stuff like that. And even if it's because of my anxiety, isn't it still me?”

John sighs. “Of course. I didn't mean to imply otherwise. I'm really thankful that you agreed to come today even if it's not your thing. I hope you didn't just do it for me.”

“Of course not,” Clarice smiles. “I'm happy to do it _with_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to say thank you to everyone who is still reading even though the fandom has damn near disappeared. I love you all.
> 
> I'd love to know what you like most so far and what would like to see in this story down the road :)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saturday at the mutant center is quite the experience for Clarice. Especially when it coincides with and unexpected reunion.

John and Clarice take the time to chill out on one of the couch of the staff room for a while after their lunch, and for the first time today Clarice can really see just how tired John really is. He's very good at hiding his pain, but when he dry swallows a few pills and lets himself slump onto the couch, his features look drawn. Clarice is sympathetic and grateful that he's comfortable enough with her to stop hiding.

“You're sure you can handle things this afternoon?” she asks. “I'm sure you could say you're not doing well and go home.”

“I could,” John says, not opening his eyes. “But it would mean canceling the youth club.”

“Is it so bad if it's just this one time?”

“If I canceled every time I'm tired, it wouldn't just be this once. Usually one of the others can replace me, but... This club is really important to some of the kids. A lot of them come from abusive or complicated situations, and here they can find people they relate to.”

“I get that. But your health is important too.”

“I'll be fine,” John shrugs. “You'll be the one running around with them.”

“I understand that you can't just leave me with them unsupervised since I don't have an official status here, but let me do the work this afternoon, okay? You can just sit and watch.”

“Sure. I hope you won't regret it,” John smirks.

“Why would I?” Clarice asks.

“It can get...lively.”

“How many kids are we talking about?”

“It's not the same every week, but anywhere from twenty to forty.”

Clarice blinks. “Okay, that's more than I expected.”

“Yes, a lot more people come on the weekend than during the week, and only a few actually enroll in the classes, but this is the only place in the city with activities for mutant kids. If they have visible mutations or can't always hide their power, they tend to get kicked out of clubs and sport teams.”

Clarice nods. Throwing someone out because of their mutation is technically illegal, but she knows well how it usually plays out. Mutants rarely win lawsuits for discrimination, so organizations know they're unlikely to get sued, and they do whatever they want. Clarice herself has been expelled from more than one school for dubious reasons, all of them related to her not looking the way people thought she should.

She jumps from her slouched position beside John when there is a knock on the door.

“We're here!” John calls. “Come in.”

He doesn't make a move to sit up, but Clarice reflexively smooths out her clothes and moves away from him slightly.

Sage walks in, barely raising an eyebrow at the sight of them together.

“Hey, guys. John told me you're staying this afternoon?” she asks Clarice.

“Yeah, I'm here to help,” Clarice confirms.

“Then we should get moving. It's almost two, and we need to get the tables out into the main room.”

“Right,” John says, taking a look at his watch. “Let's go then.”

Clarice doesn't know whether to admire or frown at how easily John hides his pain when he stands up. She can barely make out the wince on his face, and she realizes just how much he's let go in front of her the last few days. He leans on his cane walking out of the room, but his back is straight and his steps are strong and regular, which has to take a lot more effort than the more wobbly pace she witnessed just hours ago.

“We want to scatter the tables around by twos or threes so that the kids can group around them to do different activities,” John explains, leading Clarice to the stacked tables and chairs at the back of the main room.

“I can do that,” Clarice says precipitately, seeing John start to grab one of the tables. “You shouldn't−”

John lifts the table with his free hand and laughs. “Don't worry. As long as I can balance it, weight isn't a problem.”

“Damn. Super-strength, right.”

“This is pretty light. Can you handle the chairs?”

“Okay,” Clarice nods. She can't help watching him for a bit, carrying the table with no apparent effort, before she picks up some of the chairs−two by two, because _she_ doesn't have superhuman strength−to place them around the table he just put down. 

 

Less than half an hour into the youth club, Clarice is dizzy from all the agitation. She's stopped counting how many people have come to introduce themselves, John acting as intermediary, and she's failed to remember most of their names.

It's not bad. Everyone seems nice, both the kids and the few parents who have come with the younger children. Naya and Skyler are back, only slightly less shy than earlier but excitedly telling all their friends about Clarice, proud that they were the firsts to meet her.

Groups seems to form naturally, either by interest or established friendships. Some kids have brought laptops to play video games, while others go straight to a set of cabinets at the back of the room to take out craft supplies.

“On Saturday they do whatever they want,” John explains. “When we have more people supervising, we take some of them to the park to play outside games, but it's raining anyway. On weekdays we try to get them to do their homework, and they can ask for help if they need it.”

Sage naturally gravitates toward the video game group, and Clarice gets to see her use her mutation for the first time. It's subtle, and Clarice doesn't understand what she does exactly at first, but after observing her for a while, she can make a guess. It's actually the teenagers around her who give Clarice a clue: they've come with multiple games and keep asking Sage to help them get out of tight spots. After a second of staring at the screen, Sage can usually tell them how to beat the game.

John goes to sit at the craft table with his back to the wall, the best viewpoint to watch as much of the room as possible. Some of the older teenagers, including Naya and Skyler's group, haven't chosen any activity and are simply chatting, settled around tables or even sitting on the floor.

“What should I do?” Clarice asks John.

“I usually try to go around to see if anyone wants help, they're sometimes too intimidated to ask. Otherwise it's mostly just checking that everything's going alright.”

Clarice nods. “I think I can do that.”

She tours the craft table first, quietly complimenting the kids who have already started a project. She's not much of a craft person, so she can't offer much advice beyond showing one little girl how to glue her drawing onto a card, but the children seem to appreciate her presence.

She's having a serious conversation with a twelve-year-old boy on whether to draw his tree in blue or yellow when she hears someone new comes in. People have been trickling in since Sage opened the center, so she doesn't think anything of it.

“This tree has to be yellow,” the boy insists, though he was arguing for blue just five seconds ago.

“Sure,” Clarice agrees. “It will look really good in yellow.”

“But should I use a colored pencil or a pen?”

“What do you like more?”

“Um...it's easier to color with a pen,” the boy decides.

“Then there you go,” Clarice smiles, amused.

She stands back up to move on, and realizes she's seen all the kids around this table. She looks for John, who hasn't moved but is now talking with an older woman. She has three kids in tow, though the two teenage boys move away quickly. The little girl stays close to the woman, intimidated.

What strikes Clarice first is that all three of them are very visible mutants. They're not the only ones, but the majority of the kids even here have invisible mutations. She looks more closely at the woman, approaching them, to discern any sign of a mutation, and realizes her face is familiar.

She's recognized at the same time.

“Oh my, Clarice?”

“Denise?” Clarice asks carefully.

“My child,” Denise says, opening her arms. Clarice has a moment of hesitation before she hugs the woman.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” Denise murmurs in her chest. The tiny woman's head barely reaches Clarice's shoulder now.

“It's been a long time,” Clarice acknowledges.

“How many years now? You've grown and changed so much.”

“I was fifteen.”

“And now you're all grown up. And I've grown old.”

“You're not old,” Clarice says, though she can see the new lines on Denise's face. She wasn't all that young when Clarice lived with her, so she must be in her mid-sixties at least now. “You're still fostering?”

“As you can see,” Denise nods to the little girl still hanging onto her hand. She's maybe nine years old, and parts of her face are a striking blue color. “This is Norah.”

“Hi Norah,” Clarice smiles.

Norah doesn't answer, but she looks up at Clarice with curiosity.

“You know each other?” John asks, looking like he doesn't want to interrupt even though he's curious.

“Denise was my foster mom for a couple of years,” Clarice answers.

John smiles widely. “Well that's quite a coincidence! I had no idea.”

He quickly makes eye contact with Clarice, as if to check that she's really okay, then turns back to Denise.

“How are you?” he asks her. “You haven't come around here in a while.”

“Yes, we have a new foster child and she needed some time to adapt. The boys are old enough to come on their own now, so I stayed home with Norah.”

“Of course. I'm glad you've come today, though. Do you like drawing, Norah?”

The little girl nods.

“Do you want to sit over here and draw something? You can use anything on the table, and Denise can stay really close if you want.”

Norah doesn't say anything, but she obediently sits down and pulls a sheet of paper to her. She's close enough that she can see and hear them, and Clarice sees the boy sitting beside her lean over and introduce himself. Norah smiles to him shyly, though she still doesn't say a word.

“She's still a bit hesitant,” Denise says. “She didn't have the best experiences before coming to our house. Most of the children we take in have been traumatized in some way.”

Clarice looks away almost involuntarily at that. She tries to gauge John's reaction, but he stays stoical, if compassionate. Of course he already knows Clarice's life hasn't been an easy ride, but to hear it enunciated like this rattles even Clarice.

“How are _you_ doing?” Denise asks John, seeing his cane propped up against the table.

“Not very mobile today,” John answers, “but I'm alright.”

Denise nods and doesn't ask more.

“So, how come you're here?” she turns to Clarice.

“Uh, I work at the Underground Café,” Clarice says.

“Lorna and Marcos's café, right?”

“Yes. And...John and I are together,” Clarice jumps the step she's been hesitant to take. John has introduced her to all the kids as his girlfriend, so it's time she acknowledges it as well.

“You two, uh? Yes, I guess I can see that.”

Clarice smiles hesitantly. Even though she briefly considered Denise as a mother figure when she was a teenager, she's not sure that she's ready for the woman to give her opinion about her love life nearly fifteen years later.

“So you've been bringing your kids here for a long time?” she asks instead.

“About six months, now, right?” Denise turns to John. “We heard about the center when John here took over and it was in the newspaper.”

“There weren't many children activities before that,” John says. “Lorna and I thought it would be good to have this youth club.”

“It really is. Our children can rarely go anywhere they feel safe and accepted.”

_Not that you tried to find places all that hard,_ Clarice thinks but doesn't say. But maybe Denise and Karl did try, more than she thought at the time. She felt imprisoned there, but at least she was safe. Something she's never been since. She's only just beginning to stop looking over her shoulder all the time, to relax at the café,  and it's the only place beside her apartment where she doesn't feel out of place.

Maybe there  _was_ no other safe place.

“Thank you, ma'am,” John smiles.

“No, John, thank _you._ ” Denise says. “Now I'm going to go see how Norah is doing.”

 

By the time everyone has left, the craft supplies and games have long stopped being restricted to one group of tables, and there is clutter scattered all over the room. Some of the older teenagers put away the supplies they used, but most of them just left them on the tables and neither John nor Sage insisted on them cleaning up.

“We'd rather they have as much time as possible to play,” John explains to Clarice. “Too many of them are going home to places where they don't get to be children.”

Clarice promises Denise before she gathers her foster children and leaves that she will come again on other Saturdays, and that they can stay in contact. The older woman grabs Clarice's hand for a moment, as if to assure herself that Clarice is truly there and real.

Naya and Skyler are among the last ones to stay. Skyler just waves at John, and more timidly at Clarice, before grabbing his backpack and walking out, but Naya approaches them.

“Do you want me to stay and help?” she asks.

Clarice hesitates and defers to John, catching his eyes.

“You can stay if you want,” he says. “But you don't have to.”

“I'm happy to help,” Naya says.

“Thank you, Naya. There are a lot of craft supplies to put away, so we should get on with it.”

“Shouldn't she be heading home?” Clarice asks once Naya has walked away toward the supply cabinets.

“I try to let her stay when I can,” John answers. “She's old enough that it's not really a problem, and she needs it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her parents aren't taking it well that she's a mutant. It's been a couple of years since she manifested, but they still won't accept it. They barely let her come here, and only because she's sixteen and they can't control her forever. She's here as soon as we open every day, and she never leaves before closing. It's obvious that she doesn't want to go home.”

“I see,” Clarice nods, putting colored pencils back into their box. John helps her from his chair, but she stops him, seeing how exhausted he looks.

“You doing okay?” she asks.

“I'm sorry I can't be more help,” John grimaces.

“John, will you stop apologizing?” Clarice scolds him gently. “You did all the heavy lifting, and you shouldn't feel guilty for being in pain.”

John sighs. “I just hate feeling useless.”

“John, have you seen all these kids? They have a safe, accepting place to come to every week, and it's all thanks to you. You heard what Denise said.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Clarice rolls her eyes, almost angry that he doesn't seem to see what she sees.

“When I was living with Denise and Karl, I _dreamed_ of a place like this. _You_ made that happen for these children. And you think you're useless?”

John raises his arms in surrender. “Okay, okay. I can't take all the credit, Lorna did a lot of the work, but I get your point.”

“Good. Now you sit here, and I'll go help Naya and Sage. You can always handle the tables once they're clutter-free if you feel like it.”

“Right,” John grumbles, but he sits back in his chair and lets her go. Clarice gathers the three boxes of pens and pencils that she's filled and goes to put them back in the cabinet.

“Do you like it here?” Naya asks her quietly while they're working side by side. There's some timidity left in her voice, but she's more at ease outside of John's hearing.

“It's a nice place,” Clarice answers. She can see John nod discreetly from the corner of her eye, and she reflects that they're probably not actually out of his range.

“Will you come back?”

There's a sort of yearning in Naya's question that Clarice doesn't understand fully, but she nods.

“I think so, yes,” she says.

The smile on John's face at her answer is worth hundreds of teenager-filled Saturday afternoons, in Clarice's opinion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! I know I enjoyed writing it very much. We have some side characters showing up here who will probably pop up now and again, though the focus is still on Thunderblink.
> 
> Tell me what you thought of this chapter and where the story is going!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [very clumsy use of an ableist slur, self-deprecatively]
> 
> After overlooking the youth club at the mutant center, Clarice and John get a night to themselves.

John and Clarice are the last to leave the center, as John is responsible for locking it down for the rest of the weekend. They do the rounds together, checking that all of the windows are closed and getting John's bag from his office.

“It's getting late,” Clarice says as John fishes his car keys out of his pocket. “You have anything planned tonight?”

“Lorna and Marcos aren't flying back until late tomorrow night, so I have the apartment to myself. I thought we could−” John trails off with a vague gesture.

“John, are you asking me to spend the night?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Yes, I want to,” Clarice rolls her eyes at his precautions. She loves that he's so intent on making sure she doesn't do anything she doesn't want to, but his carefulness sometimes veers into self-doubt. “Let's take advantage of having a place you're actually comfortable in this time.”

“Your apartment is comfortable too.”

“But you can't take a shower there, and you can't get up the stairs without exhausting yourself.”

John sighs. “When you say it like that−” He sounds defeated, and that's not at all what Clarice wants. She goes back over her phrasing.

“I just made it sound like it's your fault, didn't I?” she apologizes.

John looks up at her. “No. I'm being too sensitive to this. I guess with the last few days, it's just...a constant reminder of what I can't do.”

“It's not your fault that my place isn't more accessible.”

“But a year ago I wouldn't have needed it to be,” John counters.

“And we would never have met because you'd still be overseas,” Clarice points out.

“Touché,” John relents.

“Let's go then,” Clarice smiles.

They make it back to the apartment above the café in minutes, as it's barely more than an easy walking distance−for Clarice, at least. It's more than John can probably walk right now.

He looks tired, but he's walking more easily than this morning. Clarice hopes it means that sitting down all afternoon helped him recover a bit more. She's truly glad he asked her for help, and in accepting she even had a few nice surprises. Among them, the fact that the center is a much nicer, much more open place than she dreamed of.

So many places advertised as mutant-friendly are only accepting of people who don't wear their mutation on their face. Clarice should have trusted that Shatter would know what he was talking about, when he told her about the center two months ago, but she's so used to not being welcome that she wasn't even willing to try. She's been burned too many times.

“I'm glad I came today,” she says, catching John's eyes as he invites her into his apartment.

“So am I,” John smiles. “You enjoyed yourself?”

“No, it was an absolute nightmare,” Clarice deadpans. “That's why I'm glad I came.”

John rolls his eyes and lowers himself onto the couch carefully. Clarice follows suit.

“So what do you want to do?” she asks.

“I'm thinking dinner, maybe a movie?”

“Date night, then.”

“Yes, but at home,” John nods. “Easier to manage for your crippled boyfriend.”

Clarice stares. “Uh, John, I don't even know if that was a terrible joke or some twisted self-hatred comment,” she says.

“It's was meant to be a joke,” John deflates. “I'm not very good at this 'disabled comedian' thing yet. Sorry. It was awful.”

“Yeah, it really was. Don't do that again.”

“I'll try not to. Now, since we're both hopeless at cooking, should we order take-out?”

“I suppose it's basically our date tradition now, right?”

“So what would you like?” John asks. “Chinese? Pizza? Mexican?”

“You can choose,” Clarice says.

John grimaces. “Can't taste all this stuff, remember? There's a Thai place that does a really good curry, but I'm guessing you don't want to repeat the hot pepper incident.”

“Uh, I'd rather not, you're right. If I absolutely have to choose...I kinda feel like Chinese tonight.”

John digs his phone out of his pocket and stands up. “I'll see if I have their takeout menu somewhere,” he says.

They spend a few minutes arguing amicably about what dishes to order before they get back to the couch.

“It will be here in twenty,” John says, hanging up and throwing his phone on the coffee table.

“It was nice meeting your students,” Clarice says after they've been silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. She likes that they're comfortable enough now that silence is no longer awkward.

“All the kids liked you,” John answers. “You did a really good job.”

“It wasn't hard, they were adorable. I told you I had plenty of foster siblings.”

“And Denise was your foster mother,” John says. “I'm trying to picture it.”

“Have you met Karl as well?”

“He came by a couple of times, but we've never really spoken.”

“I was there for about two years as a teenager,” Clarice says. “They were my last foster home, actually.”

“But you didn't keep in contact? She seemed really surprised to see you there.”

“I was too, to be honest. I guess things have changed, for the better. Back when I was there, they would keep us on the grounds at all time, often inside, so that no one could see us. Denise and Karl thought it was the only way to keep us safe, but it was stifling.”

“So they weren't a good family?”

“Oh no, they were!” Clarice exclaims. “The best I ever had. They cared about each of their children, they treated us all equally, and they were trying to be actual parents to kids who were all really lost and battered. But I felt like I was in a prison. Most of the foster parents I had before that didn't really care what I did or didn't do, so I was used to roaming freely. So I ran away.”

“How old were you?”

“Around fifteen. The police doesn't really care about mutant kids unless they damage something, so they didn't search for me. I never went back.”

“Where did you go?”

“Nowhere, really. I lived in a squat with a bunch of other kids for a while, then I started to look for jobs. No one wants a visible mutant, and especially not an underage one, so it was rough for a while, but I managed.”

“I didn't know that,” John says, biting his lip. “I mean, I knew you had a rough time growing up, but that's a little worse than I imagined.”

“Not everyone got to go to a high-end private school,” Clarice says, but she makes it clear with her tone that she's joking. The envy she felt when John talked about it the other day is still there, a little, but there's no need to share that and make him feel bad.

“I was lucky,” John says.

“How did you even end up there? Didn't you grow up in Arizona?”

“I did. When I manifested, I had a lot of issues controlling my power. My parents got...scared.”

“What do you mean? Did they kick you out?”

“Not exactly. They...well, they had me committed.”

“What?” Clarice exclaims in shock. “Why?”

John hesitates. “All we really understood of my mutation was that I was hearing and seeing things that weren't there, and that they were more intense than reality. And with my strength...I was a danger to everyone. I lashed out once and hurt my little brother pretty bad. They thought they were doing the right thing.”

Clarice looks at John for a moment, unsure what to say. This story is in some ways more shocking to her than anything he hesitated to tell her about his injuries and his time overseas.

“The hospital was not a nice place,” John continues. “I was there for...I'm not even sure. A few months, maybe a year.”

“You don't know?”

“Between my powers playing havoc with time and the meds they had me on, I don't remember much. Anyway, that's where the Professor found me.”

“The Professor?” Clarice frowns.

“The Institute's headmaster,” John explains. “He's a very strong telepath. He got me out and took me to the school. Taught me to control my mutation.”

“How old were you?” Clarice asks.

“About fifteen when I got to the school. I stayed there until I enlisted after graduation.”

“It looks like we've both had...complicated teenage years.”

“A lot of mutants do, I guess,” John says. “I'm more surprised to hear about supportive parents than abuse at the center, when the parents are human.”

“It shouldn't be our normal,” Clarice sighs.

“That's why we fight for it to change.”

Clarice looks up into John's eyes, and she's struck by the burning resolution she can see in them. She's only ever felt resigned, about the way mutants are forced to live. She's never believed that she could make a difference. And yet, today at the center, she saw it. It doesn't have to be big, they don't have to take the weight of the world on their shoulders. Making a difference in a single person's life is worth every bit of effort it takes.

 

Hours later, Clarice wakes up to screaming. She sits up in panic, wondering for a second why she's not in her own bed. When she remembers, and her brain registers the noise, she looks around her.

John in tossing and turning on his side of the bed. His face looks panicked, and before Clarice can think of anything to do, he screams again.

“Gus! No!”

Clarice realizes touching him right now might trigger something, and if he's not aware that she's here, it could get dangerous.

“John?” she calls instead. “John!”

John opens his eyes, panting−and flees. Clarice narrowly avoids getting hit when he pushes her away, but it's like his subconscious is trying not to hurt her, and he manages to avoid touching her completely.

He ends up crawling into a corner. Clarice can tell he's not quite awake, not really, still muttering things under his breath and looking around wildly. She approaches carefully, crouching down to get to his level.

“John?” she asks. “Are you with me?”

He stares at her for a while, immobile except for his still panting breathing.

“John?”

John blinks, seems to finally see her, and closes his eyes.

“Can you speak?” Clarice asks gently, coming even closer. She doesn't want to crowd him, so she's careful to leave her the space to get out if he needs to, but she wants him to know she's here for him.

John opens his mouth and closes it again, still not looking at her. He swallows several times.

“Yeah,” he says finally, his voice hoarse and low.

“Can I touch you?”

He shakes his head, almost violently.

“Okay, okay,” Clarice raises her hands to show him she's not coming any closer.

“Not...right now,” John rasps out, looking ashamed.

“It's okay, it's fine. Was it a nightmare?”

John nods. He bites his lip for a while, and Clarice tries to give him the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

“More like a flashback,” he says after a minute. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Clarice reassures him. “I think your body knew I was there.”

John slowly, sluggishly looks around him.

“Break anything?”

“Um, no?” Clarice answers, unsure.

“Happened before,” John explains, his speech still halted. His hands are shaking, even wrapped around his legs in front of him like a shield.

Clarice notices, for the first time, the mismatched nightstands, and the two different lamps sitting on them. A look at the alarm clock on John's side tells her it's just after three.

“You weren't violent,” she says. “Just...panicked.”

“Sorry,” John murmurs.

“Don't apologize.”

“I woke you up. Scared you.”

“No, no, it's okay,” Clarice says.

John still won't look at her. He takes a deep breath and moves far enough around his nightstand to open the drawer and take out a pill bottle. Clarice tries not to invade his privacy, but he must sense her curiosity, because he hands her the bottle shakily after taking a tablet.

“Anti-anxiety meds?” Clarice asks to check if she understands right.

John nods. He shakes two pills out of another bottle, the one standing on top of the nightstand that Clarice knows is his painkillers.

“Do you want water? I can get you some.”

“'m good,” John murmurs.

They stay still for a while, until John's breathing calms and his shaking recedes. Clarice doesn't dare moving, in case it could trigger him again or something, but she's been on her knees long enough that her legs are starting to really hurt. She wonders how much pain John is in, right now.

John finally starts moving, laying one hand on the floor and the other on the nightstand to push himself up. Clarice immediately stands up and takes a step back to give him space.

John makes his way back to the bed, using the strength of his arms more than his legs. He sits down and runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you feeling better?” Clarice asks softly.

John nods. He looks her in the eye for the first time since waking her up, and it's obvious that he's even more ashamed than shaken by what just happened. Clarice wants to sit by him and hug him, but she doubts it will be well-received right now. She hesitates, unsure what to do.

John lies back down with a frustrated sigh. “Come on,” he says, patting the space beside him. “It's early.”

Clarice goes around the bed and settles beside him, carefully not to touch him. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” John says.

“You were screaming for 'Gus'.”

John sighs. “Gus was...someone in my unit. I'll tell you about him, I swear, okay? It's a long story, it's too complicated for tonight, but we can talk in the morning.”

“You don't have to.”

“No, but...I should. I've been promising to tell you later for too long, and now you've seen−” he trails off.

Clarice slowly, deliberately, turns to face him and puts a hand on his arm. John doesn't immediately remove himself from contact−progress, if a small one.

“We'll talk if you want to,” she says. “But right now I want to know if you can go back to sleep or not.”

John shakes his head. “I don't think I'll sleep. But you should.”

Clarice wants to protest, but she yawns instead.

“It's okay,” John says. “Go to sleep. I'll be fine.”

He doesn't stop her and doesn't move away when she snuggles closer, so Clarice decides that maybe he's telling the truth. She feels a little guilty that she can't resist the pull of sleep, but it's been a long week and she's really tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Despite them getting together early on, this is turning into quite a slow-burn story, so I hope you're not expecting a lot of action.
> 
> Please tell me what you think!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of John's background story in this one. I hope you like it!

Just as he thought, John doesn't fall asleep again after his flashback. He feels exhausted, but his brain is working overtime dealing with the renewed trauma, and he's too afraid to have another flashback to even think about dozing off.

Pain flares always seem to make his PTSD worse, though he doesn't know if it's because of the undue stress they put on his body or because the feeling of being trapped and vulnerable brings him back to the early days of his injury. The nightmares have been a common occurrence ever since, just like the insomnia and the hypervigilance, but he felt like the flashbacks were finally receding, until today. He's destroyed half his bedroom more than once in the throws of particularly violent attacks, but that level of dissociation hasn't happened in months.

If John is honest with himself, this flashback was fairly mild, and the reason it feels so bad is not that it's a setback. It's that Clarice was in the middle of it.

It's not even shame that she saw it happen. She's already seen more of his vulnerabilities than he's ever willingly shared with anyone but his closest friends, and in such a short time that he's barely had time to think about it. But this particular vulnerability of his is not just something he's ashamed of, or something he's afraid to be rejected over.

It's dangerous to the people around him.

Watching Clarice sleeping peacefully beside him makes the storm in John's mind feel out of place−but it's somehow even worse. How is she not afraid? She just saw him scream and bound across the room unaware of his surrounding, likely almost hitting her, he admitted to being violent and breaking furniture, and yet here she is, trusting him enough to go back to sleep in his arms.

John struggles against the nausea. He doesn't think he could make it to the bathroom in time if he tried, so he just swallows and tries to breathe. The sight that greets him every time he closes his eyes, made of fire and mangled bodies and screams, contrasts so sharply with the scene of Clarice sleeping that his body is fighting the dissonance.

It seems like an eternity has passed before Clarice finally opens her eyes. John takes it as his opportunity to get up and start on his morning routine. It's going to take him a while to get his legs to function properly, so he might as well get started early.

And it's better than lying there trying to hang on to a reality that keeps slipping away.

“Hey,” Clarice says when she finds him in the living room, lifting weights in only a pair of sweatpants, over an hour later. “You got up early.”

John looks at his watch. It's barely seven, but it feels later to him. Bad nights and flashbacks tend to warp his sense of time, slowing it down until he can feel the seconds ticking by or fast-forwarding until he realizes he's lost a whole day to the fear and pain. Often both at the same time.

“I didn't want to bother you,” he says, putting down the weights and using the edge of the couch to stand back up.

He's dreading the conversation he knows is coming about last night almost as much as he wants to be done with it.

“You didn't,” Clarice answers. “But I could have gotten up with you.”

“No, you should sleep when you can,” John shakes his head. “You want to shower first?”

“No, you go,” Clarice says, rubbing her eyes. “I'm not awake enough for that.”

John limps into the bathroom with a nod, almost relieved to escape. And he immediately hates that he's thinking about avoiding _Clarice_ entirely just because he doesn't want to talk.

Clarice doesn't ask anything while they make breakfast, side by side in the small kitchen. She still hasn't brought up the subject when John finishes washing the dishes, although she has to be aware of how tense he is. She's letting him do this on his own time, he understands.

She was genuine when she said that she'd be okay if he never told her.

That realization comes almost as a shock to John. It's been a given to him that he would eventually tell her about Pulse, and all the things he has so much trouble talking about, because he can't imagine building a healthy relationship on silence and untold truths. But Clarice trusts him enough already to know that the things he's keeping close to his heart won't change anything for her.

John wishes he could be as sure. He's past the time, not so long ago, when he thought Clarice would turn on her heels and run away when his baggage got too heavy for her. She hasn't run away, and her baggage may be just as heavy, if very different.

But what happened to his unit, the story John needs to tell her, it's a mess of tightly held-together feelings, and those don't allow such rational thoughts as _she's not going to run away._ Grief and guilt are the only things that come through, even after months of therapy.

And Pulse...maybe the good memories don't make John break down sobbing anymore, but his death certainly does. It's what trapped him in the nightmare last night. Even just thinking about it bring a weight of lead to his stomach.

“We need to talk about last night,” he says, too fast, before he can talk himself out of it.

Clarice slowly, carefully turns to him. “Okay,” she says. “Let's go sit down, then.”

John nods gratefully, because his mind is all over the place and making decisions about standing or sitting is beyond his reach. He can barely hold onto the thread of what he wants to say, that mixes up with the nightmare and the images and−

He takes a deep breath, while Clarice takes his hand and leads him to the couch. She sits beside him like there isn't a hurricane going on in his mind, crossing her legs under her.

“Being with me is dangerous,” John says when his brain has managed to form the words.

“What?” Clarice frowns. “Is that what's been eating you? You told me that you have PTSD, that you have occasional flashbacks. I was surprised, but I wasn't shocked.”

“I could have hurt you.”

“But you didn't. And you won't.”

“You don't know that.”

Clarice sighs. “Maybe I don't, not for certain. But I'm not scared of you, John. You would never hurt me on purpose.”

“Of course not, but−”

“Okay, stop. We can argue all day about whether or not you could inadvertently hurt me in your sleep. I could also fall out of bed on my own and break my arm.”

“But this and my mutation, it's just too dangerous−”

“No it's not! John, I make portals that can cut someone in two. I sometimes make one of them in my sleep, too. Will you stop seeing me because of that?”

“What? No! But it's not the same!”

“It's exactly the same,” Clarice insists. “I am not afraid of you, John. In fact, you're the first man I've ever gotten close to that I'm not afraid of.”

John opens his mouth, but he doesn't say anything, shocked. That's one thing that he's never heard before. Most people are at least a little scared of his strength.

But then Clarice seems to have lived through a lot of abuse. That would skew anyone's sense of danger.

“John,” Clarice continues. “Your mutation, even your PTSD, they don't matter in this. You aren't a threat to me, because of the kind of person you are. It's not about physical strength, or control over your body.”

John thinks about it for a moment, then nods slowly. What she's saying does make sense, though she's somehow shifted the conversation away from his actual fear. He gives up for now, knowing that she won't hear more of it.

It doesn't mean he's going to risk sleeping beside her again anytime soon.

“I want to tell you what it was,” he says. “The flashback. Gus.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. But there are things that I haven't told you about me that you need to know, and I think it's time.”

“Okay,” Clarice nods, firmly squeezing his hand.

John takes a deep breath. Where to start? His relationship with Gus, his time in the Marines, it doesn't feel like something that can be summarized in a few sentences.

“I joined the Marines when I was nineteen,” he says. “I got through basic training, then Special Forces training, and on my first deployment I was assigned to what became my main unit. We were an all-mutant unit. Fifteen of us. The work we did was mostly reconnaissance, which is a fancy word for walking blindly into danger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Being in the military as a mutant is−” John hesitates. “Life is hard for mutants here, especially people like you with visible mutations, but we still have some rights. Out there, it was different. We were always on the front line. All the most dangerous jobs. We were barely better than cannon fodder. The other units hated us because of our powers.”

“But why?” Clarice asks. “I mean, I don't get the hate in general, but this sounds more specific.”

“Everyone is supposed to be equal, in front of a machine gun or a bomb. Except mutants. Except people like me, with a bulletproof skin. The others hated that.”

“So they made you pay for your mutation by sending you on dangerous missions?”

“Out there, every mission was dangerous, but yes. It made sense for me to go on reconnaissance since I track, of course, but most of the men in my unit had defensive-only abilities, or ones that weren't particularly useful in combat. Gus was...we called him Pulse. He had a really powerful ability to disrupt systems. Anything, electronics, mechanical, even the human body to some extent. And mutant powers.”

“Mutant powers?”

“Yes, he could shut us down completely. It was unsettling for me, losing body density and strength and my senses being reduced suddenly, but we trained together a lot. We met in basic training, and we became inseparable. I was promoted after our first tour and became his CO, but it didn't change anything between us. He was a caring, beautiful person.”

“What...what happened?” Clarice asks hesitantly.

John takes a deep breath. “Last year, we were on our third tour in Afghanistan together. One day we answered a tip about a Taliban group in an abandoned building. Looking back, I−I can see that it was off, but I missed it then. The mission shouldn't have been assigned to us at all, it wasn't the kind of things we'd normally do. But we went.”

Closing his eyes, John stops speaking for a moment. He runs a hand through his hair, swallowing. “The building was empty. We went to clear it...there were bombs everywhere. The whole street was rigged, including where we left our cars. I−I was standing in the street, trying to coordinate the assault and...that's when they went off, one by one.”

John makes an involuntary move of his arm, his breathing more and more labored. He knows he's triggering himself into another flashback, but he needs to finish his story.

“I remember the pain. In my back. I fell to the floor, and...Pulse was there. He managed to crawl to me somehow. There was so much smoke and dust that we could barely see, but he got to me. He...he closed his eyes and I tried to wake him up, but...he didn't respond, and I was...I was too tired, it hurt too much...”

He's openly crying now. He can't see Clarice in front of him anymore, only the smoke filling his vision and getting into his lungs. He coughs.

“John? John!”

John opens his eyes, but Clarice's voice feels like it's coming from far away. Even the pain in his back is faded, unreal, superposing with the memory of a much worse pain. For a moment, he's floating.

“John!”

Clarice's hands are on his cheeks, and they suddenly feel like a slap. John throws his head back to escape the touch and curls up on himself. The air still feels, smells like smoke. He rasps, struggling to breathe.

“We're here, in your apartment,” Clarice says softly, though John can barely comprehend the words. “You're safe. We're safe.”

“Safe,” John repeats in a murmur. He blinks and sees Clarice's face, close to his own, worried. “Safe.” Home, not Afghanistan. Safe.

Home, without Pulse.

John sobs.

“I'm sorry, it just−it fucking hurts. So much.”

Clarice shifts. “I know,” she murmurs. “I'm sorry.”

She doesn't try to touch him again, but she carefully extends a hand toward him, palm up. John stares at it for a moment, still shaking and breathing with difficulty. It takes his brain too long to understand, but when he does he takes her hand and pulls her closer.

It's nothing like Pulse's hugs, when he used a touch of his ability to shift John's perception, let his skin feel more. But that's a good thing. He doesn't want the same thing with Clarice. What they have is different, and it's good.

“Clarice, there's something...else,” he says after a while, pulling away. He's recovered enough to feel almost calm, and his hands have stopped shaking.

“Yes?”

Even after the heavy talk, and witnessing John's second flashback today, Clarice's face is still open and welcoming. John takes strength in that, and breathes in deeply.

“Gus wasn't just a good friend,” he says.

“What do you mean−oh,” Clarice understands.

“We were together for nearly five years.”

“God, I had no idea.”

“I didn't tell you before because it's still really hard for me to talk about him, not because I was ashamed,” John explains.

“Of course, I didn't think−”

“It was always complicated. We never came out to the Marines because, even in the best situation, being out in the military is not easy, and as mutants… Well, we chose not to find out. And I was his CO for a few years, too. But we had an apartment together, and we told ourselves that we'd get married when we retired.”

John swallows with difficulty. He's trying to talk and think about Pulse in a positive way, and lately the good memories don't hurt as much anymore, but that particular thought makes his throat knot up. It was more of a joke between them, since gay marriage became legal, that they would do it one day. They both knew how dangerous their job was, that they might not make it to retirement. And yet...John held on to it.

Clarice shifts uncomfortably. John opens his mouth to apologize for being so nostalgic, but he catches her hesitant movement toward him, so he opens his arms instead. Clarice hugs him tightly, and John buries his head in her shoulder.

“You're okay with this?” Clarice asks softly. “I didn't know if touching you right now might be−”

“It's good,” John answers. “Thank you.”

“I don't want to...overstep boundaries, or make you speak about things you'd rather not, but...what was he like?”

“You want to hear about him?” John asks, half-surprised.

“You obviously loved him very much. I want to know about you, and about him, because he must have been a great person for you to love him like this. But I only want as much as you're comfortable sharing.”

“Gus was...” John hesitates. It's hard to summarize the essence of a person in a few words, especially one he loved so fiercely. “He was outgoing and funny, the kind of person that everyone likes. He had a wicked sense of humor, and a high opinion of himself, so he could insufferable. I'm more the...quiet and brooding type, when there's a lot of people around, so in some ways we were polar opposites. But when it was just us, he was attentive and caring and it was like...” John's voice breaks. “Whenever I struggled, he'd use his powers just a bit to make things less intense, dull my senses, and...he was always there. I miss him.”

John tries to dry the tears running down his face, but Clarice just hugs him tighter.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm glad you told me,” Clarice says, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

“Me too.”

It's the truth. It was hard to get it out, to get over the irrational fear that Clarice will think less of John for this or that she will spook, but it feels like a weight had been lifted off him. He melts a little in her arms, exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we've made it to chapter 20 and 50k words, and this story is nowhere near finished (as in, I don't have an ending in mind at all but vague ideas of things that could happen in 40 more chapters :D).
> 
> Tell me if you're still reading, and if you like where it's going!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little late as I was on vacation this week, but I hope you like it.

John is quiet after he's done with this story. Clarice holds him until he stop sniffling, and he readily accepts her embrace, but he doesn't say anything. They speak very little for the rest of the morning and during lunch, but even silence is comfortable between them.

Clarice waits until they come back from walking Zingo to voice the concern on her mind. She expresses it as a fairly innocent question, trying to gauge John's state of mind.

“Will you come over sometime this week?”

“I−I don't know,” John hesitates, moving away from her enough that Clarice can see he's retreating into himself. “With what happened, it's...”

“I told you I'm not afraid,” Clarice says, a bit of annoyance coloring her voice.

“I know but...”

“What's the problem?”

“I don't want it to happen again!” John snaps.

“So your solution is to pull away from me?”

John deflates, and sighs. “I know it's not a good one, but...it's all I have. Maybe if I work harder with my shrink, I can stop having those flashbacks entirely. But until then−”

“Until then I still want to be with you,” Clarice says, taking his hand. John tenses a little, but he doesn't push her away.

“It could be never, Clarice. I could have them for the rest of my life.”

“And that's exactly why I don't want to wait. You'll never be sure that it's over, but it doesn't matter, John. You are _not_ a danger to me.”

“It's bound to happen again. And it could be much worse.”

“It didn't happen last time,” Clarice opposes.

John looks away too quickly. Clarice opens her mouth and closes it again, startled.

“Did you even sleep at all?”

“I−” John hesitates. “Not a lot.”

“You kept yourself from sleeping on purpose because you were afraid of this,” Clarice understands.

John sighs and doesn't answer, which is an admission in itself. Clarice looks up, trying to keep in the tears threatening to fall. She feels helpless, incapable of helping him _and_ of getting him to see it from her point of view.

“I'm not afraid of you,” she repeats hopelessly. Maybe it will get through this thick brain of his if she says it enough.

“We're just going round on the same arguments, aren't we?” John shakes his head. “How about we agree to disagree for now?”

“Does that mean you'll come over?”

“I don't know, Clarice,” John looks down. “There's still the bathroom issue, and the stairs… Maybe it's just too much to deal with for now.”

Clarice closes her eyes in dismay and runs a hand through her hair.

“Fine,” she gives in. She doesn't want to push him until he agrees to something he doesn't want, even if she thinks he's being unreasonable. “But this isn't over.”

John bites his lip. “I'm not...breaking up with you, or anything,” he says, looking worried.

“I know, John. I understand. I don't agree, but I understand.”

The atmosphere after that is strange. Clarice still hasn't really digested what John told her this morning, and now they've had their first real argument. It would have been easier if it was about who is doing the dishes or what to get for dinner, than this. They both feel guilty while still standing by their positions, and it hurts. It hurts Clarice, it burns inside, the thought that if John doesn't change his mind they may never be fully comfortable together. And that John is going to blame himself for it, for anything that happens to her, whatever she says.

God knows he doesn't need it. He still looks exhausted, even though he's barely moved from the couch all day, beside walking Zingo for maybe fifteen minutes. Clarice can tell he's in pain, and yet his pain meds have stayed on his nightstand in his bedroom, untouched. Is he punishing himself by denying himself relief?

Unable to stand it anymore, Clarice makes a decision and goes to find the pill bottle. She firmly puts it down in front of John on the coffee table, and he looks up at her in surprise.

“What−” he starts, frowning.

“You're hurting,” Clarice answers.

“I don't want them. I'd have gone to get them otherwise.”

John's tone is curt, careful but annoyed. Clarice sighs internally.

“I just thought you could use them, that's all,” she says, turning her back on him.

“They make me fuzzy,” John says after a while, in a low voice. Clarice turns back to look at him. He's dropped some kind of pretense, and he's slumped over on the couch, absently massaging his thigh. His face is a mess of emotional and physical pain that Clarice can barely stand to look at.

“I wanted to have this conversation with a clear head,” he continues.

“Okay,” Clarice nods. “But that's over now. You can take them.”

John looks down. “I try not to take too many. Too easy to get addicted.”

Clarice frowns, still not understanding. He hasn't taken any, when she saw him pop pills several times a day earlier this week.

“Talking about Gus is...hard,” John says when she doesn't answer. “I...it would be easy to use the painkillers or the other meds to...make it feel better. But I don't want to use them like that. I need them for the pain, and the other stuff, but it would be too easy to start taking too much because I'm...hurting in other ways.”

“God,” Clarice sighs. “I−I didn't think of that. Obviously. I shouldn't have assumed.”

John blinks. “Oh,” he says. “I thought you were going to tell me I should take them anyway. Or stop taking them altogether. I don't know. But not that.”

“I can't−I _won't_ tell you what you should do with your own body.”

“Most people seem to have an opinion about it,” John rolls his eyes. “I appreciate it.”

“Most people have an opinion about whether I should be allowed to have babies, or to choose not to,” Clarice says. “And about whether I should be allowed to be a part of society at all. It doesn't mean they're entitled to say it to my face.”

“Right,” John chuckles. “That's true. Anyway, I think I will take some pills now, because I'm pretty sure I actually need it.”

“You don't need to justify yourself to me, either,” Clarice says, trying hard to make up for her mistake.

“I know,” John half-smiles. “But it's good to be held accountable sometimes.”

 

On Tuesday morning, Clarice walks into the café and goes straight for Lorna. John is at physical therapy, so she has a while before he shows up.

Lorna looks up from the coffee machine she's turning on.

“You're early,” she says.

Clarice checks her watch. It's fifteen to eight, so she's only here a few minutes earlier than usual.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says.

“Yes?”

“We need to make my bathroom accessible ASAP.”

Lorna raises an eyebrow. “Why the sudden rush? Does it have anything to do with how moody John's been since Sunday?”

“I don't want to go into details, but I stayed the night while you weren't there and−”

“He had a nightmare?” Lorna guesses. “He had that...look in his eyes.”

“Yes. Does it happen that often?”

“Not as often as it did at first when he came back.”

“Anyway, he's so afraid it will happen again that he won't even consider sharing a bed.”

“That's what he's saying? Did he hurt you or something?”

“No!” Clarice shakes her head. “But he seems to think that he will next time, or something. I don't know. I don't mind, I'm not afraid, but he won't hear it.”

“And how will modifying your bathroom help with that?”

“Well, at first I thought I'd give him time to come around, but now I think I need to show him I'm really not afraid of him. And as long as he can't use my bathroom, he's going to use that as an excuse.”

Lorna considers her for a moment.

“I see,” she says. “I could get some metal and come round tomorrow evening, but we really need John to be there. He needs to tell me where to put the bars himself.”

“Damn,” Clarice mutters. “I'll try to convince him, then. Thank you.”

John shows up an hour later, and neither he nor Clarice bring up their argument again. They're careful around each other, awkward in a way that would be cute if the reason was less negative. They settle back as well as possible into the nascent routine that got interrupted by John's flare-up last week, eating lunch together in the back room.

Clarice looks for a way to bring the subject back on the table that won't immediately devolve into an argument, or feed into John's trauma. It's hard. His fear is so deeply linked with the cause of his flashback itself that Clarice is afraid to say the wrong thing, to send him back _there_ without wanting to.

She finally find an angle of approach that seems fairly inoffensive when he comes down to the café the next morning wearing a tank top that shows off his tattoos. The _Semper Fi_ strikes her, after what he told her about how the military treats mutants. _Always Faithful._ How can he be faithful to a country that wishes he was never born? Clarice has never been able to forgive that.

But John's story the other day wasn't about America. It was about his unit, his friends and his lover who all died in the explosion. His _brothers_. He said that once, that day when he first explained about his injuries. _Semper Fi_ is not for his country. It's for those who fought at his side.

“In the Marines, did you have a nickname too?” Clarice asks on a whim, when they walk to the park with Zingo after her shift. “You said that you called Gus Pulse because of his power.”

“We all had one,” John explains, surprised but not closed off. “It started out as a joke in the unit. You know, the X-Men have always had nicknames, so we thought we should have ours.”

“What was yours?”

“You're gonna laugh,” John says self-deprecatingly. “It was 'Thunderbird'.”

“Your tattoo, is that−”

“That's where it comes from, yes. We had some free time on our hands one day and we all went to get tattoos. We all got the same _Semper Fi_ tattoo and one that represented our nickname or our power.”

“Thunderbird,” Clarice repeats. “I like it.”

“It's ridiculous. It's not even an Apache legend, but the others insisted that it fit me well. I guess it grew on me. Now it reminds me of them.”

Clarice smiles in sympathy.

“I'd love to hear more about them one day, when you feel like it,” she says.

John nods. “The war was...what it was, but there's a lot of good stories too.”

“It's a shame you don't get to dream about those.”

“I wish,” John snorts.

“Have you thought at all about...coming to my place?” Clarice asks quietly.

John sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I haven't thought about much else,” he admits. “What happened, I mean.”

“Me neither.”

“I know you said you're not afraid, but...I am. I'm afraid of hurting you, and I'm maybe even more afraid of you seeing me like this again. I−”

“John,” Clarice hesitates. “The first time we really talked was because I had a panic attack before coming to work and Marcos asked you to sit with me. I had _another_ panic attack on our first date. You think I wasn't terrified then that you wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore?”

“Of course I want to be with you,” John says immediately. “It doesn't change anything.”

“Then why do you keep thinking that it will change things when it's you?”

“Because−” Johns starts. He briefly looks like a fish out of water, grasping for an argument. “Because it feels different?” he settles on with a wince.

Clarice rolls her eyes, but in a friendly way. “I know. Believe me, I know. But that's not rational. I don't think any less of you because of your mental health issues, or your disability, just like you don't think any less of me because of my anxiety or of Lorna because she's bipolar. If anything, I love you even more for it, because you're open about it and you never invalidate what I'm feeling. You know what it's like.”

John nods. “Okay, you're right. But I could still hurt you.”

“It keeps going back to that, doesn't it?” Clarice sighs. “Alright, listen. I honestly don't believe that you'll hurt me. The other night, I could see that you unconsciously registered my presence, and you reacted to it by getting away from me, not attacking me.”

“I don't always dream of the same thing,” John says. “Next time I could think you're an enemy or something.”

“What if I could portal myself away from you?” Clarice asks on a whim.

“What?”

“What if I could, say, immediately get to another room if you show signs of having a nightmare while we're together?”

“Your portals aren't stable enough for that,” John frowns. “You'd need to build them much more quickly.”

“I know. But you said I could learn, that I could train.”

“You would do that?”

“It's seems as good as reason as any. I don't want to train for combat, but having a way to get myself out of tight situations would be good. Until now it's been...unreliable.”

John keeps staring at her with eyes that are starting to shine. Or maybe it's just a trick of the light, Clarice is not sure.

“What?” she asks when it starts getting awkward.

“I'm−I'm amazed that you'd do this just so we can sleep together,” John says quietly.

“Of course I would. I want this, John. I want _us._ And I'm willing to work at it.” Clarice pauses and bites her lip, almost afraid to ask. “Are you?”

“I am,” John nods vigorously. “I really want this relationship to work for both of us.”

“Would you be reassured if I can portal myself away if things get bad?”

“I think so. If you promise not to hesitate or worry about me first.”

“Then I'll make you a deal,” Clarice says, a little relieved. “I'll train hard to build the portals faster, and you keep working with your shrink on the flashbacks, but without trying to rush it. In the meantime, you stop worrying about hurting me and I promise to get away at the first sign of trouble.”

John thinks about it for a moment, long enough that Clarice worries he'll refuse. But he meets her eyes and nods.

“Deal,” he says.

“So you'll come over?” Clarice checks.

“Yes.”

“And you won't try to stay awake on purpose?”

John rolls his eyes. “I promise I won't,” he says. “Listen, I'm still going to worry, at least until you can control the portals fully, and insomnia doesn't work on command, but I promise I won't  _ try _ to stay awake.”

“ I'm okay with that,” Clarice says. “Thank you.”

“No, thank  _ you _ ,” John takes her hand. “ I love you.”

Clarice blinks, and feels a smile spread on her face. “I love you too,” she says.

She buries her hand in his hair, and he pulls her closer for a kiss. Clarice deepens it, bringing their bodies together. It's just a kiss, and a fairly chaste one at that, but they haven't felt this close since John came to her place.

With all that has happened since, John's flare-up and then his flashback, Clarice discovering the center, it feels further away than just a week and a half ago. She knows more about him than she did then, and he probably knows more about her. She feels even closer to him, emotionally connected.

“I like this,” John smiles when they pull apart. His eyes seem to reflect what Clarice feels.

“Me too,” she says. “By the way, Lorna's coming over tonight to set up the shower bars, and she says you need to be there.”

John raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Tonight? Does she know that?”

“Yup,” Clarice smirks.

“Did you set me up?”

“No, I just hoped really bad that you'd be willing to come.”

John nods slowly and smiles.  “ I'll be there,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really amazed at how this story just comes together on its own. I come up with a hurdle and bam, the characters just make up a solution that works and moves the story forward. It's like I'm just here for the ride.
> 
> What do you think about Clarice's idea? Is it going to work?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit lighter than the last few. I planned this picnic ages ago, but this is where it ended up fitting in!

Clarice looks around her as she gets out of Lorna's car. They're in what looks like a dirt parking space at the beginning of a hiking trail, but there are only a couple of other cars around. Zingo jumps out of the back seat behind her, excitedly waggling her tail.

“Few people come here,” Lorna answers her questioning gaze, “but there's a spot we like. Are you ready to walk a bit? It's maybe a fifteen minutes walk, but there's a lake with a little beach, it's really nice.”

It's Sunday, and this is the day Lorna and Marcos chose for their picnic. The weather is nice, but not yet the crushing weight of Georgian summer. Clarice is flattered to have been invited on what seems to be a long-standing tradition between the three friends.

“I'm fine to walk,” Clarice starts, “but what about John?”

“Don't worry about me,” John says from behind her.

Clarice joins him at the back of the car to see that he's getting his wheelchair out of the trunk.

“Oh,” she says, surprised. “I didn't think−”

“Most trails aren't flat enough,” John says, “but this one is. Look.” He points at the signs indicating the beginning of the trail. Clarice spots a little blue disability logo.

She watches John unfold his chair and sit down with curiosity. It's the first time she's seen him actually use it, and she can't help noticing the details. The chair itself is all black, and it's sleeker and lighter than any Clarice has ever seen from up close−which was mostly on TV. She makes a note to ask John about that, later, when they're in a better setting for an actual conversation.

“Can I give you the food?” Lorna asks, taking a backpack out of the car.

“Put it on,” John nods, turning so he has his back to her. She secures the backpack to the back of the chair while Clarice is still trying to get used to the sight of John in it. He's obviously fully comfortable, even doing a wheelie as he waits for Lorna to close and lock the car, but she doesn't know how to feel about that.

“You okay?” John asks her, looking up to meet her eyes.

Clarice shakes herself. There's some apprehension in John's expression, and she knows that he's waiting for her reaction in some way. He may have mostly accepted his disability and be comfortable using his chair, he's still uncertain about the way other people look at him. About the way Clarice looks at him. She hates that she _is_ somehow bothered, confirming his fears. But now is not a good time to address it.

She nods. “Sure. So where's this spot that you like?”

“Down the trail a little,” John says. “Come on. Zingo!”

The dog runs back to them and John secures her leash, handing it to Lorna.

Walking beside John in his chair takes a little adjusting, so Clarice is glad she has Lorna and Marcos to model from. Neither of them seem bothered by John being at a different height, and they naturally adapt to his speed. Clarice catches each of them giving her glances a few times, but otherwise they simply fall into comfortable bantering as they walk.

They don't walk for very long before the trail meets the edge of a lake. They follow it around part of the lake, Marcos and Lorna still bantering while John and Clarice are mostly quiet, until a small beach opens before them, at the turn of the trail.

Clarice has to admit the spot is worth walking a little. The lake opens before them, its water quiet and deeply blue, but the area is protected on all other sides by trees, and it really looks like they're alone in the world, away from civilization.

“You like it?” John asks in a low voice.

Clarice turns to him. “A lot,” she smiles.

“We can go swimming later if you want to.”

They settle on the side of the beach, against a spatter of rocks, and let Zingo run free. Lorna seems to have thought of everything, including towels for them to sit on. She starts taking out plastic containers full of food and handing paper plates around.

“You went all in, didn't you?” Clarice asks.

“We all have our favorite foods, but I didn't know what you'd like, so I made some of everything,” Lorna answers.

“You didn't have to. I can eat anything.”

“Except for hot pepper,” John chips in with a wink at Clarice.

“Oh, you tried to get her to eat your food?”

“It was an accident,” Clarice defends John.

“The chili you left for me last week,” John explains. “We shared it.”

Lorna's eyes widen in surprise. “You actually ate it?”

“If there's enough pepper for John, it's barely even food anymore,” Marcos jokes.

“It was a bit...hot,” Clarice admits.

John shakes his head. “She ate her whole plate,” he says.

“Well, congratulations, John,” Lorna says in a mock-serious tone. “I think you've found the right one. If she likes you enough to eat your food, she's a keeper.”

“Hey, I'm right here!” Clarice protests, but she laughs along with them. Lorna may well be right. She made herself eat that chili because she wanted a glimpse of John's world, and she wouldn't have done this for anyone but him.

John beams at her, and she's swept by the casual happiness in his eyes, the sweetness of his contentment. _Love you_ , she mouths, then she shifts closer to him until their thighs touch. John balances his plate on his other knee and puts an arm around her, the other still holding his fork.

“You two are disgustingly sweet,” Lorna says.

“You're one to talk,” John shoots back. “I get to hear your heartbeats when you're together. Three of them, now.”

Three? The baby, Clarice understands. Lorna is just starting to show now at nearly four months pregnant. Clarice has the sudden thought that John must be hearing her heartbeat too, something that she hadn't realized. Did he hear it when she was crushing on him like a schoolgirl? Does he hear it when her anxiety rears its ugly head?

“What's wrong?” John murmurs in her ear.

He does, then. Clarice takes a deep breath. “Nothing,” she answers. “Just realized something.”

John smiles at her, gently rubbing circles into her arm, and she melts again.

“Did you see the latest review we got in the AJC?” Marcos asks after they've all been silent for a while. Clarice is still tasting Lorna's dishes, picking into each container except for the one reserved for John.

“Yeah,” John says. “Is it the work of Sonya's friend? The one she's doing her big project for?”

“Yes, she's a journalist,” Lorna answers. “She came over three months ago to interview us. It was before you got there,” she adds for Clarice.

“What does the review say?” Clarice asks.

“It's pretty good, she liked the atmosphere and the coffee. She's human, but a long time ally, so she just said it can be a bit disconcerting to see so many mutants around.”

“That's not very−”

“I know, but it's the best we've had so far,” Lorna shrugs. “We have plenty of good customer reviews, but professionals are all human and usually suspicious that we're open about being mutants.”

“You've had bad reviews?”

“Yes. Interestingly though, they tend to attract new mutant customers. I guess they know how to read between the lines. And we've got a pretty good online presence.”

“Lorna manages our social media accounts,” Marcos explains.

“Moderating hate speech is a pain, but after a while the trolls are almost funny. There's very little they can do to us.”

“Not like the center,” John mutters.

“What do you mean?” Clarice turns to him.

“The vandalism and death threats are why it almost shut down last year. We saved it, barely, but it runs on subventions. If the public eye is too negative, we could easily lose those.”

“Is it that bad?”

John shrugs. “It could be worse. There are plenty of cities that won't give grants to openly mutant organizations. We have enough to keep it open for now.”

“Anyway, it's Sunday and we shouldn't be talking about work,” Marcos says. “Though I did get a few more hilarious phone calls this week.”

“The BDSM club? I got one of those too,” Lorna laughs.

“And someone who was asking about our 'backroom'.”

John barks out a laugh, while Clarice frowns uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“Every few days we get phone calls from people thinking the café is some kind of nightclub,” Lorna explains. “Apparently a BDSM one, too. I guess someone talked about it on a specialized forum or something.”

“It's the name,” Clarice says. “I'll admit I was a bit skeptical when Shatter told me to go there to find a job.”

“What did you imagine, heavy metal live music and Goth decorations?”

“I don't know,” Clarice shrugs. “Something like that. So why did you name it the Underground, anyway?”

Marcos and Lorna glance at each other. “Usually we just say it's an inside joke,” Lorna says. “But you're part of the family now. You deserve the whole story.”

Clarice frowns. “Is it something bad? I don't want to−”

“No, not really, it's just a long story. It goes back to how we met each other.”

“Okay. We have time.”

Lorna nods. “Let's see. Did you hear about the mutant kid who freaked out during a police raid at his orphanage a few years ago and destroyed the whole neighborhood?”

“Yes, I remember. They suspected some kind of abuse but nothing was done in the end, right?”

“That's the one. The child died in his own outburst, along with five other people. And the police refused to disclose why they were even there in the first place.”

“You were involved?”

“No, but back then I was studying at Georgia Tech, and just starting to get involved with the mutant activist group there. We staged a protest against bad treatment of mutant children, and we ran into a group of Purifiers. A few people got hurt on each side, but we'd used mutant powers, so the court ruled that it was all our fault.”

“You got convicted?”

“Yes. I was already diagnosed bipolar, so all I got was mandatory treatment and some community service, and I got kicked out of university. But the people I was with got jail time.”

“Damn,” Clarice mutters. More than one of her old friends, made in the foster system or on the streets, are now residents of one of the state's overflowing jails. She's narrowly avoided getting arrested several times herself, and she's knows well that it doesn't take a lot for mutants to land there. But hearing stories like this still tears at her heart.

“Anyhow, that's how I got involved with the...less legal side of activism. When I got out of the hospital, I had no job and no money, so I reached out to our old headmaster, and he got me in touch with a few activists in the city who weren't in the same group I'd been part of. One of them was John.”

“Didn't you know each other from school?” Clarice asks.

“We were a few years apart, so we never really talked,” John answers. “We really became friends when Lorna reached out. I was stateside, so I helped her find an apartment and a job. That was, what, six years ago?”

“What were you doing in Atlanta in the first place?”

“Pulse was from here,” John says.

Clarice nods her understanding. It must be strange for him, maybe even painful, to still live here now that Pulse is gone, she reflects. But then Lorna and Marcos live here too, and they seem to be here to stay.

“You?” she asks Lorna. She knows her aunt lives somewhere north, and she went to school with John, so she's probably not from here.

“Georgia Tech was a dream of mine,” Lorna shrugs. “The best for female engineers.”

The school she got kicked out of. Right. Clarice doesn't even dare ask Marcos, because his story is unlikely to be any more joyous.

“That still doesn't tell me why the Underground,” she says instead.

“Right,” Marcos says. “Well, remember I told you I used to work for my ex's father?”

Clarice nods, curious as to where this is going.

“He was also the one who originally brought me into the country. I have actual papers now, but...he smuggled me in, at the time. He was the head of one of the largest Colombian cartels.”

“What? You were a drug dealer?”

Marcos laughs. “I don't look like it, do I? I never used myself, but Carmen's father kept me around for my powers, to intimidate his enemies. So yeah, I did plenty of things I'm not proud of. I would help smuggle drugs into the country. And a few times, we smuggled mutants who were being chased out of the country. That's how I met those two, they would set us up with people who needed to escape.”

“Oh, smuggling now? I would have never suspected that about all of you,” Clarice quips. She really is surprised. The three people she's met and gotten to know in the last few months have plenty of issues, but they have more of less stable lives−an apartment, a café to run, a baby on the way… They don't look like people who used to be part of illegal activities.

But then, neither does she, probably.

“I guess we have hidden depths,” John smiles.

“During the time when we were throwing out ideas for the café,” Lorna continues, “one of my friends who was convicted for the protest died in jail. He got killed by another inmate because he was a mutant.”

“I'm sorry,” Clarice bites her lip.

Lorna nod sadly, then shakes herself. “Anyway, one night the three of us were talking about it and we started to joke that the café could be a front for a smuggling operation. You know, helping mutants who'd broken the law or were in trouble. Kind of like the Railroad Underground.”

“That's how the café got its name,” John says. “I was shipped out the next week, so I didn't get to see the start of it, but I'm kinda glad it didn't actually become a mutant smuggling front.”

Clarice snorts. “I don't see either of you guys as Han Solo,” she says.

“Most smugglers are guys in suits,” Marcos shrugs. “I'm sure we could pull it off just fine.”

“Of course, it wouldn't be a big deal for you,” Lorna tells him. “You already have the network and everything.”

“Oh, I'd share with you,” Marcos winks, kissing Lorna's cheek.

“How generous of you. Do I get a code name? John has one.”

“Didn't you have a nickname at school?” John asks. “Polaris?”

“You remember that?”

“I remember you tried to pick up fight with anyone who didn't call you that.”

“Hey!” Lorna protests, leaning over to kick John's shoulder. She grimaces and massages her hand. “Damn, you're hard.”

“So, Polaris?” Marcos asks. “I didn't know about that.”

“It was just a teenage thing,” Lorna shrugs. “A phase.”

“I like it,” Marcos smiles. “It suits you.”

“That leaves you two,” John says, nodding to Marcos and Clarice.

“You could be...Eclipse,” Lorna says to Marcos.

“You sure are blinding enough,” John quips.

“Will you ever let that go?”

Clarice looks between the two men. There's a story there that she doesn't know yet.

“I could barely see for two days!” John says.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to lose control!”

“I know,” John smirks. “I'm just messing with you.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarice asks curiously.

“Marcos lit up on me once,” John says. “It was like looking straight into the sun for an hour. Gave me the mother of all headaches, too.”

“It was a really bad day and I lost control,” Marcos adds. “But that was years ago!”

“I still think Eclipse is a good name,” Lorna says.

“Okay,” Marcos grumbles. “Eclipse and Polaris… It has a nice ring to it.”

“What name do you want?” John asks Clarice.

She thinks about it for a moment, while Lorna and Marcos throw in more and more ridiculous names.

“Blink,” she says, remembering her promise to train her ability. “I want to be as quick as a blink. Here one second, elsewhere the next.”

“Blink,” John repeats. “It's nice.”

Clarice smiles up at him. “Thank you, Thunderbird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you enjoy finding out some of Lorna and Marcos's background? Adapting it from the little we got to see on the show was fun.
> 
> Tell me if you liked this chapter!
> 
> Next up: Clarice's training begins.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with a chapter a bit longer than usual! Posting has been somewhat erratic the last few weeks, but I should be able to stick to a schedule now that I have a comfortable advance on this story (at least for a while).
> 
> This picks up right after the picnic. I hope you enjoy it.

When they get back to the apartment after the picnic, it's late afternoon. Lorna has already decided that Clarice is staying for dinner−and Clarice didn't protest−so the four of them go up together. John doesn't bother to walk and uses his wheelchair, since it's easier than carrying it upstairs and he hasn't put his braces back on after they went swimming in the lake.

“This was a really good day,” Clarice says, as she and John help Lorna put away the contents of the picnic bag.

“It's nice out there, isn't it?” Lorna nods.

“Very. I didn't even know a place this peaceful existed so close to the city.”

“That's what we thought when we found it, too,” John says, maneuvering his chair around Clarice. The kitchen is too small for the three of them. “Pulse took us out there. He was born and raised in Atlanta, so he knew the city like the back of his hand.”

The location is full of bittersweet memories for John, now. But they felt more sweet than bitter, today. Maybe he _is_ slowly moving on.

“I'll have dinner ready in about an hour,” Lorna says. “Now you two lovebirds get out of my kitchen.”

“Fine, fine,” John smiles, backing his chair out of the room. “You want to chill out a bit?” he asks Clarice.

“Sure,” Clarice smiles.

Going into John's bedroom is the only way to get some privacy, but they feel like teenagers when doing so, sitting side by side on John's bed. At least no one asks them to leave the door open. They end up cuddling together, enjoying the physical proximity.

John feels actually good, rather than just not-so-bad, for the first time in weeks. It probably has to do with how careful he's been to avoid pushing his body and the swim he took earlier, but the pain in his back is barely noticeable, and his legs feel tired in a good way, not like they do most mornings after PT. He closes his eyes and takes the time to enjoy the moment. It really has been a good day.

Opening his eyes again, he catches Clarice looking at his wheelchair, now sitting by the desk.

“You have questions about the chair,” he says. “Ask them.”

Clarice hesitates. “It looks different from the ones you see on TV.”

“Mostly because TV is awful at portraying disabled people,” John answers with a shrugs. “This is an active chair, it's meant to be self-propelled. I'm guessing you're thinking about those awful hospital chairs with armrests?”

“Probably,” Clarice admits. “I don't know.”

“You can't really use those independently. I had one for the first few weeks before I could really start PT, it was awful.”

John's current chair is custom-made and lightweight, though still sturdy enough to hold his weight. The hated hospital chair is folded up in his closet, just in case, but he hasn't touched it since the day he got this one.

Clarice bites her lip.

“What is it?” John asks her.

“It's just, seeing you using it−” Clarice hangs her head, almost looking ashamed.

“You were bothered,” John understands.

Clarice looks up at him again. “Yeah. But I don't even understand why, not really.”

“It's really just a tool,” John says. “Not different from the cane or the braces. You weren't as bothered by those.”

“No, but−” Clarice hesitates. “This is really hard to put into words.”

“The wheelchair is the symbol of disability,” John guesses. “But I _am_ disabled.”

“I know. I'm sorry, I know this isn't right, but−”

John sighs. “You're entitled to your feelings, Clarice, and I do understand. Sometimes it's hard to wrap your head around things.”

“The chair...it felt like...it made you somehow more disabled or something.”

“Yeah. You associate it with something you've been taught to think of as bad. Being disabled.”

Clarice nods. “Lorna told me once that the wheelchair was some kind of...freedom for you. I think I understand it in theory, but my brain is struggling to catch up.”

“It is freedom,” John approves. “Mobility, not limitations. I still hate the chair sometimes for what it represents, for the way that people look at it, but that's internalized ableism. My physical therapist is the one who go me to look at the chair as a mean to independence. Most people, even Marcos and Lorna sometimes, they try to encourage me to use it as little as possible now that I can walk, because walking is more...well, normal. But the reality is that I'm not going to walk better if I use the chair less. I'm going to be in pain and overdo it and probably set myself back.”

Clarice seems to turn that over in her head several times, still staring at the chair.

“What you mean is even if you appear more...stereotypically disabled when you're using the chair, you can actually do more when you bring it?”

“Exactly. I probably couldn't have walked with you to the lake, or if I did I'd be a mess right now. It's not _better_ to walk, not for me.”

“I...have to admit I didn't think of it that way,” Clarice says slowly. She lights up, “Wow, why didn't I think of it that way? It makes so much sense.”

“Because society told you that wheelchair equals bad health?” John offers.

“Yeah, I guess. God, ableism runs really deep, doesn't it?”

“So does racism, and bigotry and all of the others,” John shrugs. “You just don't see it as much when it doesn't touch you.”

“I know the reason I'm struggling to see it the way you do is because I still have so many false ideas about this. Like it took me years to start thinking about all the racist and anti-mutant garbage I was told and understand how poison it was. And I still think those thoughts way too often.”

“I get it,” John says. “I have those too. I don't blame you, I'm far from perfect in this area. I've been disabled less than a year and I'm still untangling all this stuff. Actually, you'll find Lorna is way more knowledgeable about this than me. She's had a lot longer to think about it.”

“Disability?”

“Yes. And mental illness, neurodiversity, all of that. She's quite passionate about it. Her current thing is mutations and disabilities. You know how many mutants are impaired by their mutations? We call them _abilities_ , but it's really a misnomer.”

Clarice thinks about that for a moment. “I can see what you mean,” she says. “I think. Some mutations are−”

“Too far removed from the accepted norm,” John finishes when she hesitates. “Making things inaccessible. Society is not made for mutants, so if we're too different, we get put aside. Not so far from other disabilities.”

“You include yourself in that?” Clarice asks curiously.

“I didn't use to think that way, but now...yeah, I suppose I do. Having enhanced senses, in a society of loud music and jackhammers and neon lights and perfume _is_ a disability. The first couple of years after I manifested, I just couldn't live normally, and I still get...headaches and other stuff.”

“And me?”

“Only you can say,” John answers, slipping an arm around her back. “But even when our mutations don't manifest that way, we tend to pick up plenty of trauma and mental health issues along the way, so the difference isn't always easy to make.”

Clarice nods. “Yeah, I guess. It's just...I mean, for me this is a new way to think about disability entirely. Before meeting you, it seemed like all disabled people were full time wheelchair users, or fully blind or something. I knew that wasn't really true, but it seemed so...remote, in a way. Something I didn't think about much.”

“Something that happens to other people,” John states.

“Well, yeah.”

“I know,” John laughs. “I got to find out the hard way that it's not true.”

“Maybe that's why we're so...scared of disability, though? Because it can happen to anyone?”

John shrugs. “I suppose there's some of that, yes. But people are also scared of mutants, and people of color, and...basically everything that doesn't fit into their narrow notion of the norm.”

“Right,” Clarice shakes her head. “So, disabled, Apache, mutant, and I'm guessing bi?” she asks, counting on her fingers. John nods. “You are so screwed, _Thunderbird_.”

John raises his eyebrows. “I could say the same about you, _Blink_.”

She smiles widely, and John marvels, not for the first time, at her ability to take the negative things in her life and laugh about them, without ever actually making light of them. She's a rare pearl.

“So, if you want to be quick as a blink, does that mean you're ready to start training?” he asks. It's been a few days since they agreed on it, and neither of them has brought up the subject again, even though John spent the night at Clarice's twice. He didn't manage to sleep much, but it was still better than he'd hoped.

“I promised, didn't I?” Clarice says. “When are you thinking?”

“How about Tuesday, at the center? The youth club starts at four-thirty, so if we go just after your shift we'd have about an hour and a half.”

Clarice thinks about it for a moment.

“Okay, it sounds good for a start,” she says. She doesn't look excited exactly, but determined. John feels a surge of love for her that nearly make tears come to his eyes. He leans over to kiss her.

 

“The best way to get better and faster at using your ability is just bare bone practice,” John says two days later, standing across from Clarice in his classroom at the mutant center.

“Is that how you trained?” Clarice asks. John's abs stand out nicely in the form-fitting workout tee-shirt he's wearing, and she can't help staring a little, although she doesn't get why he changed if he's just here to watch her make portals.

“Our powers work differently,” John answers. “When I had to train, it was mostly to...tone it down. You need to hone it.”

“Does that mean you can't help me?”

“No. I have experience training other people.”

“Your students at the center?” Clarice asks.

“Yes, a lot of them come in with very little control over their powers. The teenagers are actually easier to teach than the adults, because they haven't had time to form bad habits.”

“Like what?”

John nods to the scorch mark on the floor of the classroom.

“Like only using their abilities for one specific thing and ignoring their range,” he answers. “Or relying on emotions to get their power working. Or trying to repress it entirely.”

“Does that happen a lot? I don't make portals that often, but without it I'd feel like a part of me is missing.”

“Sometimes they don't have a choice, they have powers that are impossible to control. And too many people are in a situation where anyone finding out they're mutants would be dangerous.”

Clarice nods sadly. “I've never been able to hide, but I get why you'd want to.”

“The problem is that when you restrain yourself too much, at some point it explodes. Depending on your power, it can kill you. Or everyone around you.”

“You know a lot about this.”

“I don't just train the kids at the center. The Marines didn't really have a set program for mutants, so they left me in charge of training my unit. And before I enlisted, I was a TA at the mutant school for a year.”

“Then you shouldn't have any trouble with me, right?” Clarice says with an angelic smile.

John smirks. “We'll see.”

“So, where do we start?”

“Let's see,” John thinks for a moment. “Your ability is to teleport, right? Go from one point to the other.”

Clarice frowns. “Not exactly. I make portals, it's not really the same as just teleporting myself.”

“What do you think the difference is?” John asks curiously.

“It's like...a teleporter leaves one place to go to another, right? But my power is like a door. I open a door between here and there. I bring those places together.”

“What you're saying is that you _can_ teleport yourself, but it's not what your power really is about?”

“I...guess? I've never really thought of it like that before, but it's like I bring that other place to me, instead of going somewhere. While the portal is open, I mean. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” John nods. “I was going to try having you focus on somewhere you want to go, but maybe it should be something you want to reach instead.”

“Okay,” Clarice says doubtfully. “Focus on something I want to reach. Um. How do I do that? Meditation? Hot yoga?”

John rolls his eyes. “You and me, hot yoga, together? I could get behind that idea,” he says, just as flippantly. “But it's not going to help you with your power.”

“So what?”

John thinks for a moment. Clarice takes the opportunity to feast her eyes again without it being glaringly obvious. He's wearing shorts, for the first time since she met him, his braces in full view around his calves. She wonders if it reflects on how much he trusts her or if it's just because it's getting really hot outside.

“What food do you like most?” John asks suddenly. “Pastries, something sweet. Or junk food.”

“Uh...” Clarice hesitates, taken aback. “A...warm jelly donut?”

“Okay,” John laughs. “Then let's go get one.”

“Now? Why?”

“You'll see.”

Clarice follows, amused and confused, as John actually drives her to the bakery to get a single jelly donut and back, all the while refusing to explain. Once back inside the center, he leads her to his classroom and sets the donut on a table in the corner.

“Stand here,” he tells Clarice, indicating the opposite corner.

“Okay,” Clarice obeys doubtfully. “Will you explain now?”

John smirks at her confusion. “Alright. I'm guessing so far you've been using portals mostly in emergencies.”

“Yes. Getting out of bad situations. That's my thing.”

“Right. This means that for now, your power is conditioned to manifest more easily when you feel like you're in danger. It's useful, but it's not reliable. Now I've seen you make a portal in a situation where there was no emergency, and it was slow, but it worked. You can also make smaller portals on command, right?”

“Yes. It's just that I can't hold them for very long, or stretch them without focusing really hard.”

“What we need to do, is associate using your power with something positive.”

“The donut?” Clarice raises her eyebrows.

“Yes. I've chosen something small and innocuous on purpose, so that you can work on extending it to other positive things later.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my first thought was to tell you to focus on something or someone that you really love. But after you told me that your power is literally to reach for that thing you want, I thought you might just get stuck _only_ being able to reach something really big. The donut might be harder to use at first, but it'll prepare you better.”

“I have no idea if what you just said makes any sense, but I think I see what you mean,” Clarice laughs.

“Good. Now stop laughing at me and get to work.”

“And how do I do that?”

John indicates the donut, sitting on the table thirty feet away. “Reach for it.”

 

Forty-five minutes later, Clarice is exhausted. John has made her train relentlessly, opening larger and larger portals. They've focused on speed rather than precision, since that's what she needs most for now. She mostly agreed to train to placate John about their sleeping conditions, after all. He wants her to be able to get out in a hurry if it's needed, and she'll train until she gets there if it can make him feel safer.

“It's almost time for the youth club, so we need to wrap this up,” John says. “You can use the changing rooms if you want.”

“Thanks,” Clarice nods, grateful that she thought to bring a change of clothes in her bag. She's as sweaty and out of breath as after a long run. She's never used her ability this intensely before, and never knew it could make her feel this way.

“Here's your donut,” John smirks when she comes back out of the changing rooms, showered and feeling much better. He hands her the donut on a plate, slightly reheated so that it's just warm enough.

She only used it the first few times to make the portals. Once she got the feeling she needed down, the emotion necessary to build a portal on command, they put it aside. But Clarice eyed it more and more as the session wore on and she expanded enough energy to feel hungry.

“Thanks,” Clarice laughs. They both sit down on one of the couches of the staff room while she eats the donut. “Want a bite?”

“Sure. But it's yours. You've earned it.”

Clarice brings the donut up to John's face so he can bite it. “I like to share,” she says. “God, this is so good. There was a bakery that made them beside the street I usually slept in when I ran away from the system. I'd look at them for hours in the window, just trying to imagine what they might taste like.”

“Is it as good as you imagined?” John asks.

“No. I romanticized it so much that the one time I got enough money to buy one, I was disappointed. But I learned to like them again when I finally found a job and didn't have to drool in front of the window anymore.”

“So that's the story,” John smiles. “I wondered if there was something more to it. You reached for it surprisingly easily.”

“Really? It still takes me really long to build a proper portal,” Clarice says around the last bite. She's trying to make it last as long as she can.

“You aren't going to get perfect at it in one day,” John shrugs. “With practice−”

“You just love that word, don't you?”

John looks at her with his face caught somewhere between a smile and a thoughtful look.

“Maybe I laid that on a little strongly,” he says. “But it's true.”

“That practice makes perfect?”

“That you can accomplish a _lot_ by practicing. Not everything, but a lot.”

“I get it,” Clarice says. “It's not always fun to hear, but I get it.”

“I know. I know it's hard to believe at first that you can get there, but you can. Eight months ago I couldn't stand up under my own power. Look at me now.”

“But isn't that more like healing? I mean−”

“Technically, my spine was healed within a month,” John answers. “The rest was...making my body relearn how to move, within its new...limitations. That's what takes time, and practice. Just like you need to make your body learn how to make portals faster.”

“I hadn't thought of it like that,” Clarice admits.

For some reason, this thought gives her a renewed determination to give this training her best. She's still on the fence about whether she really wants it, she's mostly doing it for John, but imagining him persevering through these months of relearning how to walk makes her want to make him proud. He deserves a willing, hard-working student.

She can be that for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of Clarice's training? It's how Thunderblink first got close on the show, and I enjoyed picking tidbits of that to integrate here. I'm not completely losing sight of canon!


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update sooner, but things got wild for a bit. Here we go for a lot of emotional hurt/comfort.

Clarice hesitates for a while before she hits the call button. She has no real reason to worry that John hasn't answered her half-dozen texts and her two phone calls today. Maybe his phone is dead, or he forgot it somewhere. They didn't talk about their plans for today−actually, for the first time in over a month, they haven't seen each other all weekend. But John seemed fine yesterday in his texts, even sending her a picture of Zingo playing with the new toy Clarice bought her, so there's no reason to worry, right?

“Stop kidding yourself,” Clarice mutters to herself. It may just be her anxiety showing, but she won't settle down until she knows John is safe and sound. She might as well spare herself the worst case scenarios her brain keeps hitting her with, even if it makes her look like a fool.

She hits call on Marcos's number. She could have just headed over to the café, but it's closed for Memorial Day and showing up at the apartment unannounced is going a little too far.

“Hello?” Marcos answers at the third ring.

“Marcos, it's Clarice. I shouldn't be bothering you on a holiday, but−”

“What is it, Clarice?” Marcos says, sounding slightly impatient. Clarice can hear sounds around him, like he's in a moving car with an open window.

“I just...John isn't answering, and−”

“You want to know where he is.”

“I'm just worried.”

Marcos sighs. “We drove up to Canton. Been there all day. I think he has his phone off.”

“What's in Canton?” Clarice asks, confused.

“The National Cemetery,” Marcos answers.

“Wh−oh my God, Memorial Day. I didn't even think. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you.”

“No, it's fine. It's just...been a hard day, for all of us.”

“Of course. I'll...I'll leave you alone. Just give John a hug for me, okay?”

Marcos doesn't answer for a moment, and Clarice is almost ready to hang up, sick to her stomach, when he speaks again.

“John says you can come by the apartment. We'll be there in half an hour.”

“Thank you,” Clarice breathes.

She takes care to give them enough time to get back and settled before she walks over to the café, spending the whole forty-five-minute wait pacing around her kitchen table. How could she not think of it? Of course John would have a hard time on Memorial Day. And of course he would go pay his respects.

She removes her sunglasses before she goes to knock on the door to Lorna and Marcos's apartment. Marcos opens quickly, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

“Come on in,” he says with a nod.

John stands up from the couch when Clarice walks in, grimacing. He's wearing a military uniform, the cap abandoned beside him. His wheelchair is sitting close, like he just transferred from there to the couch directly.

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse. His eyes are red, though he looks otherwise perfectly composed in the dress blues, his hair tied back, ribbons and medals on his chest. Clarice doesn't know what most of them mean, but she recognizes the purple heart.

She makes a move to hug him, but he takes her arm gently.

“Maybe...not today,” he says, biting his lip. “I'm sorry.”

“No, _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't even be there. I'll...go.”

“Don't,” John says simply, not looking at her. “Stay. If it's okay.”

Clarice has tears come up to her eyes at this. “Of course,” she says.

John sits back down on the couch. Lorna and Marcos have already taken the armchair, Lorna sitting on the armrest, so Clarice hesitates. John pushes his wheelchair out of the way and waves for her to sit beside him. They don't touch, but feeling his presence so close is soothing, however tense he is.

The atmosphere is sad and solemn and awkward all at the same time. Clarice feels like an outsider, she doesn't have a place in this grief. Lorna hasn't even acknowledged her, though she's watched all of her moves. Her eyes are red, too.

John unties his hair and passes a hand through it, tiredly. He undoes the top buttons of his uniform and of the dress shirt underneath. Silently, he digs his wallet out of his pocket and takes out a picture. He looks at it for a moment, his eyes shining, and passes it over to Clarice.

“What is this?” Clarice asks quietly, mostly because the silence is heavy. She can see it for herself. She can pick out John in the middle of the group of people, all wearing fatigues, a couple of them with highly visible mutations. They look happy on the picture, friends posing together on a background of military tents in the desert.

“My unit,” John says. “That's Pulse,” he points to a man beside him in the picture. Clarice looks at the smiling face for a moment, and when she looks up a tear is falling down John's cheek. He wipes it away quickly. “This was taken about a week before−”

“I'm sorry,” Clarice murmurs. It sounds like a platitude, but she doesn't know what else to say.

“I'm the only one who's still alive,” John says, his voice wavering.

Clarice offers him her hand, and this time he takes it, though he's careful not to squeeze.

“Don't let what his parents said get through to you,” Lorna says.

John opens his mouth, and closes it again. Clarice gives Lorna a questioning look, but she's focused on John.

“They're not wrong,” he says.

“Yes, John, they are. You are _not_ responsible for what happened.”

“Pulse's parents,” Marcos explains. “They're not−” He makes a vague gesture, a grimace of distaste on his face.

“They're racist, homophobic bigoted people,” John says. “They barely talked to their son after he manifested. Pulse never came out to them, so his parents only know me as his roommate. And his C.O who got him...killed. They hold me responsible. As they should.”

“No, they have no right!” Lorna exclaims. “They didn't know anything about his life. It's not your fault, John!”

“I led them all onto a bomb, Lorna,” John rasps out. “It was my call.”

“You had no way to know it was booby trapped!”

“But I should have! I'm the one who's supposed to be able to see things from far away! I missed it, and now they're all gone!”

John is openly crying by the end of his outburst. He removes his hand from Clarice's, crossing his arms in front of him as if to protect himself. Clarice doesn't dare touch him again, but she doesn't know what to do, faced with his distress and self-hatred.

She looks over at Marcos, lost, but he just shakes his head. It's obviously not the first time he's hearing this. He and Lorna have probably been trying to convince John it wasn't his fault ever since it happened.

She feels too far from him. It isn't her place to come into this argument, not when she barely knows what happened. She's known about Pulse for less than a month. She keeps fighting the impusle to hug John, because that's the only way she knows to respond to his pain, but the last thing she wants is to violate his boundaries.

Lorna stands up and comes to kneel in front of John, not quite touching him. He still moves back slightly, curling up on himself.

“John, look at me,” Lorna says sternly.

John looks up, his eyes not quite meeting Lorna's.

“Don't spiral out on us again. This is not on you. You can't keep blaming yourself.”

John doesn't look persuaded, but his body seems to react to the conviction in Lorna's tone, and he sits up a bit. He looks around, slowly, at Marcos then at Clarice, and blinks like he's forgotten she was here. Clarice holds out her hand carefully, palm up, an obvious invitation but one that can easily be refused.

“I−” John starts, his voice hoarse.

“It's okay,” Clarice murmurs when she realizes he's now trying to apologize for his distress.

John takes her hand and holds onto it like an anchor.

“You know Pulse was the one who made me realize that other people can't hear electricity?” Lorna asks, sitting back on Marcos's lap. The attempt to change the conversation to something lighter is obvious, but they all take it.

“I knew that people can't move metal, obviously, but I thought electricity flowing through cables and lamps was something everyone could hear, until Pulse used his power on me.”

“I can hear it too,” John whispers, like his voice can't come out louder for now. “Differently, I guess. He'd take that away, too.”

“His power made me feel so cold,” Marcos says.

“That's because you're a human radiator,” Lorna laughs. “Your blood is literally boiling!”

“I don't hear you complaining when it's cold out.”

“No, but sleeping with you when it's ninety degrees is like being in a furnace!”

“Do you think Pulse's power would have affected my appearance?” Clarice dares to ask. It's a gamble, because she doesn't want to put a damper on the conversation again, but they seem open to talking about Pulse, and she genuinely wonders. How many times did she wish with all her soul, as a child, that something could make her look normal?

“Probably not,” John answers, his voice still low. “It didn't to the visible mutants in our unit. He said it had something to do with mutations' passivity.”

“What does that mean?”

“It affected my body density because I wasn't born with it, and my body's system has some control over it even if I can't change it consciously, so I can still become stronger through training, or put on weight. But your face marks, or your eye color, they're completely passive. His power affected Shatter because his appearance is directly part of his power, but not Pedro, who was born that way.”

“It didn't do anything to my hair,” Lorna adds.

“Okay,” Clarice nods.

“I wish−” Lorna starts, but she stops herself, biting her lip and looking at John. John looks back, tiredly but with determination, and nods to her. “I wish he was still here. That you could meet him,” she finishes.

“I wish that too,” John murmurs.

Clarice squeezes his hand. “I don't know why I didn't realize that he was your friend too”, she tells Lorna. “Of course he would be.”

“He was a really good friend,” Lorna smiles sadly. “Always the life of the party.”

“But compassionate, too,” Marcos adds. “Really full of himself, but if we needed anything, even just to vent, he was always there.”

Clarice can feel more than hear the hitch in John's breathing. “I miss him so much,” he murmurs.

After that, they sit in silence for a long while, each lost in their thoughts. Clarice tries to make herself both comforting and unobtrusive, but she's not sure any of them even notice her. She doesn't share their grief.

John is the one who stands up first, probably because he's been sitting still too long for his back. He winces and massages his thigh discreetly, letting go of Clarice's hand.

“I need to move,” he says. “I'll go walk Zingo. She's been cooped up all day.”

“I have to get started on dinner anyway,” Lorna says, standing up as well.

“Can I come with you?” Clarice asks John. She doesn't want to leave him alone unless that's what he needs.

“Sure. Just let me get my braces on.”

Clarice nods as John disappears inside his bedroom. Lorna is banging pans around in the kitchen, which leaves Marcos, who still hasn't moved.

“It's probably a good thing that you came,” Marcos says. “I thought John would want to be alone, since he didn't talk about today with you, but he probably just didn't want to bother you with this.”

“Of course,” Clarice nods. “I'm glad I came too. Do you think he'll be okay?”

“Yes. Today's a bad day, but he's healing, and not just physically. I think your relationship is going a long way toward helping him move on.”

“Then it's a good thing. Sometimes I worry that I'm pressing him into something he's not ready for.”

Marcos shakes his head with a smile. “From what I know about you, I doubt you're pressing him in any way. Don't worry. You're doing good.”

“Thanks,” Clarice says. “It's good to hear. Though I'm not the one who's supposed to need comforting today.”

“Go be with him. Lorna and I will be fine. We have each other.”

“Yes we do,” Lorna says, poking her head through the kitchen door. “Clarice, are you staying for dinner?”

“I don't know. I don't want to impose, and it depends on John.”

“You can stay,” John says from the bedroom. Of course he heard everything. Clarice curses herself for forgetting again.

“Then yes, if it's not too much trouble,” Clarice says to Lorna.

“It's fine, I'm just making pasta. I'm not in the mood to cook more than that.”

“Pasta's good,” John says, coming out of his bedroom. “Zingo, come on girl, we're going for a walk.”

He attaches the young dog's leash, and Clarice stands up to follow him.

“I'm sorry about what you saw earlier,” John says quietly, once they've crossed the road and entered the park. It's surprisingly empty for a holiday, but the weather seems to reflects the day's mood for John and Clarice: gloomy and sad. They pass a few people who give them looks, and Clarice realizes that they must seem strange, John in full uniform and her with sunglasses on a rainy day. For once, she doesn't feel self conscious about it.

“What do you mean?” Clarice asks, sitting down on what's almost become their bench, while John lets Zingo run free.

“I shouldn't have gotten into that, not in front of you. It's just...still so hard, and this was the first time I talked to Pulse's parents since I got out of the hospital. They still blame me and it hit me harder than it should have.”

Clarice wants to say that they have no right to blame him, but that would just be baiting John to disagree−she knows he will. Harping on about it again, when John's still in such a dark place mentally, will bring no good.

“They never knew anything about your relationship?” she asks instead.

“Pulse never spoke a word about it, because he knew how they'd react. He didn't hide it purposefully, he just didn't really talk to them. I actually met them for the first time at the Purple Heart ceremony. I wasn't there for the funeral, I was still in the hospital up in D.C.”

“And they blamed you?”

“I was the only one who wasn't receiving the medal posthumously,” John says, looking down at the Purple Heart pinned to his chest. “It wasn't a hard conclusion to reach.”

“It's still a really shitty thing to do,” Clarice sighs.

“They asked me to move out of the apartment we shared the same day so they could end the lease, even though I was still inpatient three states away and it was on the third floor without an elevator. Marcos and Lorna had to move all my things in a hurry and leave everything that belonged to both of us behind.”

Clarice blinks. “Wow. I had no idea. That's the most callous thing I've ever heard. Even if they didn't know you were together.”

“They'd just lost their son. But yeah, it was...hard. And today, they tried to tell me that I had no right to be there and it felt−” John's voice breaks. “Lorna shut them up, but−”

Nodding in compassion, Clarice opens her arms. This time John accepts the hug, even leans into it. It's not romantic, only a comforting embrace that he seems to need badly.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I didn't know if I should tell you what we were doing today, or even ask you to come. I couldn't think. I'm sorry I worried you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. _I'm_ sorry I didn't realize what today meant to you. I'm not sure I could have been any help over there, but I'll always be there to support you when you need it.”

John looks up at her. “You're a lot of help now,” he says.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?” Clarice asks.

“I don't know,” John hesitates. “Yeah, I think I'd like that. If you're okay with just...sharing a bed.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

“You're good with staying here even if Marcos and Lorna are here?” John asks. That's a boundary they haven't crossed yet, but it doesn't matter to Clarice tonight. This isn't about sleeping together as a new couple, this is sharing a bed for comfort. The same thing that Marcos and Lorna are probably going to do, tonight.

“I'll even sleep on the couch if that's what's best for you,” Clarice answers.

“No, no. I just…I don't think I can handle an empty bed tonight. But I don't want you to feel like you're...filling up for him.”

“I know I'm not. But you're grieving, and today is especially hard. I understand that.”

“I'm sorry,” John murmurs.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

John nods curtly, not looking at her. “I probably won't sleep, but having you here might help,” he says.

Ah, that's why he doesn't seem worried about hurting her in his sleep, like he has been since his flashback. Clarice winces internally. John doesn't need insomnia on top of everything he's dealing with, but of course that's not how things work.

“Then I'll be here,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually wrote maybe half of this chapter before and on last Memorial Day. It's not celebrated or anything where I live, so I wouldn't have thought to include it otherwise.
> 
> John is slowly healing, and Clarice is good at comforting. Next chapter will be quite a bit lighter, and in the one after that we're off to Westchester for X-Men time!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be just a transition chapter, and it turned into more John&Lorna friendship moments! I love writing those too :)

“I want to go to Westchester before the end of June,” Lorna announces one night while they're eating dinner. “I know we usually go after classes end, but it's going to get harder to fly soon with this little one,” she puts a hand on her now visibly pregnant belly.

Both Lorna and John have kept in contact with the X-Men and the school since they graduated, and tried to go visit regularly, so it's not really a surprise. But it still catches John off-guard. It's been hard, in the last months, to make plans beyond the next few days, let alone think of getting out of town. He doesn't have enough head space for that. That's why he and Clarice haven't talked about the future at all, and John doesn't look forward to it. He can barely see himself in two days, so months or years are out of the question.

“Okay,” John says, shaking the thoughts out of his head and trying to pierce through the fog. “Do you guys want to make a weekend out of it?”

“That's what we were thinking,” Marcos answers. “Do you want to come with us?”

“I don't know,” John hesitates. “Last time I was there was...” he trails off.

“It's not going to be like that. I'm sure everyone there would like to see you, and the situation is very different.”

“Yes, of course. I just...it's gonna be hard to go back. All the times before that, I went with Pulse.”

“The Professor is worried about you,” Lorna says. “I had him on the phone the other day. He doesn't want to ask you to come, but...I think he needs to see you're really doing better.”

John sighs. “I know he's worried. He even offered to come down here, and he barely ever leaves the school anymore. Alright, I'll come. It will be nice to see all of them, I suppose.”

“Good,” Lorna says. “There's also another reason I want to go sooner rather than later.”

“The baby?” Marcos asks.

Lorna nods at him. John looks between them, confused. “What about her?” he asks. They've known for a couple of weeks that it's a girl, though Lorna's ultrasound was the day after Memorial Day, so John was in no mood to celebrate. He still got Lorna and Marcos to take a night for themselves and have a nice dinner at a restaurant.

The baby is another thing he can't imagine yet. He'll have to move out before she's born, most likely, but the thought of looking for an apartment fills him with dread. And a new human being to care for, a vulnerable, fragile baby when John can't even take care of himself...

“I don't know if you've noticed, but the pregnancy is affecting my powers,” Lorna says.

“Yes, I saw you break that handle the other day. Are you saying you're losing control?”

“Not yet, but I still have three months to go, and my powers are growing faster than I can keep up with. I don't know if it's the pregnancy hormones or the baby.”

“You want Jean's advice,” John understands.

“Yes. And I think my obstetrician is freaking out. He's never had a mutant patient with powers that strong, I'm afraid he's going to bail.”

“Damn. That's not good.”

“There's no specialist in the area, we checked. The closest is in Miami, so I figure it's easier to just ask Jean. She'll point me in the right direction, at least, and she can confirm that everything is going well.”

“Okay,” John says. “Sounds like a plan.”

He spends the rest of dinner lost in his thoughts, his brain trying to adjust to both new ideas: going to the school for the first time in months, and Lorna being worried about giving birth. He knew it couldn't be easy for her, but it's the first time she's talked about it so openly.

She doesn't want to bother him with this, John understands. She's been trying to spare him, because she thinks he has enough to think about. He feels almost resentful, bereft of their former easy friendship, when they didn't hesitate to tell each other everything.

It doesn't occur to him until later that he does have enough to think about. He hasn't been paying attention to Lorna and her pregnancy, because it's too much for him to process.

He's been a terrible friend.

 

Lorna brings the subject of going to Westchester back on the table a few days later, when they're sharing a coffee in the empty café, during the Monday morning lull. Monday is Clarice's day off, so it's just the three of them, and it's a very quiet day.

John has had enough time to get used to the idea of going to the school, and his mind feels a little less foggy. It still amazes him how much clearer he feels on good pain days.

“Would the weekend after next work for you?” Lorna asks.

“I don't have anything planned,” John answers. “Classes will be over, so I just have PT on Saturday morning, but I can move it over to Friday or even cancel it for once.” He keeps to himself that his therapist has been talking about spacing out sessions for several weeks anyway. He's not ready to admit that he's not improving anymore.

“Do you think we could take Monday off and stay until Monday night? Otherwise it's going to be really short.”

“We can close the café for one day,” Marcos says. “We haven't taken a single holiday since we opened, besides those two weeks back in August.”

The weeks they took to come see him at the military hospital in D.C., John realizes. He wasn't in any state back then to worry about what they'd done with the café, but of course they would have had to close it.

“Okay, I'm going to book the plane tickets in a couple of days, so we need to agree on a timetable,” Lorna says.

“Can you wait a bit longer?” John asks on a whim.

“Sure, why?”

“I'm thinking of asking Clarice to come with us.”

Lorna immediately smirks. “Isn't it a bit early for her to meet the family?”

“You do know the Professor isn't actually my father, right?” John raises his eyebrows.

“He certainly thinks of you as his son.”

“Yes, along with all the kids he's ever taught, including you.”

“John, we all know you and he have a special relationship.”

“Yes,” John admits. “But I wasn't thinking about it like that for Clarice. I think it would do her good to see the school. She doesn't know many safe places for mutants.”

“It's a good idea,” Marcos nods. “I think seeing the Institute is what reconciled me with the idea that mutants could have happy lives without all the shit I saw in the cartel.”

Lorna nods her agreement.

“Thanks,” John says. “I'll ask her tomorrow.”

Marcos slips back behind the counter to serve the single customer who just entered. John remembers, unbidden, that the first time Clarice showed up was a day like this, when Marcos was doubting aloud, just before she entered, whether they even needed the extra help.

Given how much stress it seems to have relieved from Marcos and Lorna's shoulders, hiring Clarice was the right move, even discounting the fact that it allowed her relationship with John to develop. And now with Lorna's pregnancy leave looming in the corner, they're probably grateful that they have someone already trained to take over Lorna's duties.

One more thing John never talked with her about, he realizes.

Lorna looks tired today, and she's taken the opportunity of the empty café to sit down at John's table, a hot chocolate in front of her. She stopped drinking coffee two weeks ago when she realized it made her power surges worse.

“I haven't really been here for you lately,” John says. He's not sure what he wants to tell her exactly, but he has something to apologize for. “There's been a lot going on, but that's no excuse.”

“You have so much to worry about−” Lorna starts, not even trying to deny the truth.

“No. You've gone above and beyond for me when I needed it, when I still need it, and I'm being a terrible friend. I'm sorry.”

Lorna shakes her head, looking down at her mug.

“The fact that you're here at all is huge,” she says quietly. “When you were injured...I was terrified. We lost Pulse, and we were so afraid we'd lose you too. And then when you came home you were all...messed up and...” Lorna bites her lip, blinking back tears. “I'm just really glad you're here.”

John winces. Ever since his injuries, it's all been about _him_ , about his pain and his grief and his recovery, so much that Lorna and Marcos's own pain and grief got played down. They probably tried to spare him their worry as much as they could, and he feels awful, suddenly, for not seeing it.

“That's mostly thanks to you,” he says. “I'll never thank you enough.”

“There's no thanks needed. That's what friends are for.”

“Friends are also supposed to be there when their friends are dealing with a complicated pregnancy. I can see how stressed you are.”

Lorna smiles sadly. “It's scary,” she says, “because we know so little about pregnancy in mutants, let alone about specific powers. I'm so afraid that something will go wrong, that I'll lose the baby, or die in labor, or even hurt someone else _._ No one knows what's going to happen.”

“For what it's worth, I'll be at your side,” John says. “I probably won't be of any use, but I'll be there. Anything you need.”

“I'm glad. At least I won't break your fingers if I squeeze too hard during labor.”

“Right,” John laughs. “But seriously, there's no need to spare me. I'm doing better, and I want to be here for you.”

“Oh, I was serious!”

John rolls his eyes, smiling.

“It's going to be a huge change, to have a baby around,” Lorna says. “I know you're here for me, but you've been through a lot of big changes recently. I don't want to add more on your shoulders.”

“A new life,” John says. “It's a good change. I think I can handle that.”

“I'm not sure you'll have a choice,” Lorna grins. “This little one seems pretty eager to come out into the world!”

“You've started feeling her?”

“Yeah, for a couple of days. It's pretty early for a first pregnancy, apparently, but she's already a kicker!”

John laughs, savoring the light in Lorna's eyes. She and Marcos are going to have a baby, everything is going well with Clarice, and this is a good day. For the first time in almost ten months, he feels like things are actually looking up.

 

“You're getting faster!” John exclaims the next day when Clarice finally manages, for the first time, to open a portal her size without having to widen it in degrees. It takes all her concentration and her energy, but it's a huge improvement over what she could do just weeks ago.

“Thanks,” she says, dropping the portal. She stumbles as it disappears, putting her off balance.

“Wow,” John catches her. “I think that's enough for today.”

Clarice nods, then yawns widely. John doesn't let go of her until she's sitting down, and even then he keeps watching that she doesn't fall off her chair.

“I'm okay, just tired,” she says.

“You've been at it for two hours, so that's not surprising.”

“What about the youth club?” Clarice frowns.

“It started over half-an-hour ago,” John smirks. Clarice blinks. Now, she can hear the children chatter and move around in the main room, but it's the first she's noticed. “You were really focused.”

“I guess,” Clarice laughs sheepishly. “Don't they need you?”

“No, they have enough adults. Sonya's back, so she's handling things. I think she took most of the kids to the park, actually, that's why they're not making a lot of noise.”

“It's a nice day,” Clarice remarks, looking wistfully out the window.

“You want to go out?”

“Can we go out without going through the main room?”

“Sure,” John shrugs. “It's technically a fire escape, but there's no alarm on it. Come on.”

“Thank you,” Clarice says. She sways again standing up from her chair, and John is here to catch her.

“You sure you want to move?”

“Sunlight might help. I don't know, it's something to do with the purple lights.”

“Marcos needs the sun to power his ability,” John offers. “It could be similar for you.”

He doesn't let go of Clarice as he leads them out of the classroom and to the end of the corridor, to one of those fireproof doors that can only be opened from the inside. The glass panel bears the remains of what Clarice assumes is the last act of vandalism the center suffered, paint marks and a crack in the glass.

They sit again out in the sun on a bench. The center has a small courtyard protected from the street by a fence, and they're alone. Clarice cuddles up against John, relishing his protective presence. She feels drained.

“Maybe we should space out the sessions,” John says. “Or make them shorter. I know you're mostly doing this for me, but I don't want you to harm yourself.”

“Shorter could be a good thing,” Clarice approves. “But I want to keep going. I like that my portals are starting to feel more natural, and I'm not just doing it for you. It could be useful, plus I actually want to be able to sleep beside you without you worrying.”

“Right. Still, with the summer we'll be able to train on Saturdays, so you won't be doing it after standing at the café all day.”

“On the weekends?”

“The center is on summer time from June 17th, so I won't have classes anymore,” John explains.

“Does that mean you'll have free weekends?”

“Pretty much. I'll still oversee the youth clubs but my presence isn't strictly needed now that Sonya's back. Lorna, Marcos and I will be going up to Westchester for the weekend in a couple of weeks.”

“What for?”

“I told you about the school Lorna and I went to, remember?”

“Yes. That's where you're going?”

John nods. “We've kept in touch with the teachers and the people who work there, most of them are good friend. It was a little more than just a high school for us. I've tried to go back as often as possible when I was in the Marines, and Lorna goes at least once a year. We usually wait for the summer holidays, when there are fewer kids around, but Lorna wants to go before her pregnancy is too advanced.”

“And you're going with her?”

“Yes. Marcos too. They'll close the café and we'll make a long weekend out of it.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you if you want to come,” John says, with some hesitation.

“You want me to come with you?”

“The people there, they're the closest thing I still have to a family.”

“You want to _introduce_ me?” Clarice blinks.

“Not necessarily like that,” John shakes his head. “But I'd love for you to meet them, and I really want you to see the school. I still consider it my home, and it's a really nice place for mutants.”

“So where is it?”

“Near New York,” John answers, amused. “But you know it's not just any school, right?”

“I got that it's a mutant-only school−”

“It's the base of the X-Men.”

Clarice blinks. “They're based off a school?”

“Always have been. Professor X is not called 'Professor' for nothing. He built this school into his family mansion, back in the seventies or something. Hundreds of mutant kids have gone through there.”

“Wow. I had no idea. I basically only know what we see on TV, mutants in suits and masks. And you're close to them?”

“I almost became an X-Man,” John says.

“Really?”

“Yes. I stayed on at the school for almost a year after I graduated, and during that time I trained with them. I was looking at my options, and Scott, the leader of the X-Men, offered me a spot on the team.”

“Why didn't you take it?”

John shrugs. “It wasn't a good fit for me at the time. I don't know, I guess I wanted a different kind of fight. My father was a Vietnam veteran, and I had all these ideals. I thought if I fought alongside the humans, I could show them that we're just like them.”

Clarice nods in understanding, biting her lip.

“I was nineteen and naive,” John continues. “You know something of how that went. Now… I don't agree with everything they do or stand for, but they're doing good work. On a personal level, most of them are friends or mentors to me.”

“I'd love to go with you,” Clarice smiles. “It's a bit daunting, but I think I can handle it, and it's important to you.”

“It is,” John nods. “Thank you.”

Clarice snuggles closer to him again, then sits back up with a thought.

“Wait, does that mean we're flying to New York?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“I hate flying. I _always_ get searched, and half the time they try to hold me even though I don't have anything forbidden.”

John laughs. “Well, this time you'll be flying with me. Which will probably make it even more interesting.”

“Why? I'm sure _you_ don't get flagged down that often.”

“With two pounds of metal in my back? And wait until you see what it's like to get a wheelchair on board.”

“You're taking your chair?” Clarice asks. She tries to make it sound perfectly neutral, like the curious question that it is. Their discussion about John's wheelchair a few weeks ago may have mostly cleared the air, but she's still careful about the way she phrases things.

John doesn't hesitate. “On a trip that long, yes. I want to be able to move when we're there. And I'm _not_ using an airport wheelchair.”

“Alright. I guess I'll see how that goes, then. How long will we be there?”

“The plan is to fly there on Friday afternoon and back Monday evening. Monday is the least busy day for the café, that's why Marcos and Lorna chose it, but I know you volunteer at the shelter, so if you'd rather change it−”

“No, it's fine,” Clarice says. “Shatter can do without me for once. We have more volunteers during the week now that summer's coming anyway. Kids who want work experience, that sort of things.”

“Good,” John smiles. “Then I'll book the plane tickets in the morning.” He plays with a strand of her hair, looking straight into her eyes. “I'm really glad you're coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be spent in Westchester, meeting a number of well-known mutants... Are you looking forward to it? I know I am!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a longer wait than usual, as RL got hectic for a bit, but here is chapter 26! It's the true beginning of our X-Men crossover, so I'll be adding that to the tags.
> 
> Enjoy!

“That was...an experience,” Clarice says when they finally get through the gate to the airport waiting area.

“You could say that,” John says, wheeling himself closer to her. Having to wait over half-an-hour _and_ yell at the flight attendants for them to stop insisting he could walk to the baggage claim and get his wheelchair out of hold has been exhausting and nerve-wrecking for all of them, and it was only the last of a long list of issues. Clarice, Lorna and Marcos all refused to get off the plane before John could and helped him stand his ground, but he would probably have caved in if it had lasted any longer, despite his tiredness and pain.

Clarice herself has been tense throughout the journey, getting far too many looks for her comfort, though her sunglasses have stayed glued to her face the whole way. John has had too much to deal with to offer more than customary support, but she can feel his concern for her.

“It's not even the worse we've had,” Lorna interjects. “Remember the first time you flew after your injury?”

“Don't remind me,” John says darkly.

Clarice watches him with a frown. Even before the harrowing trip, John has been in a bad mood all day, in that way she's learned to recognize means he's in pain and doesn't want to admit it. He came back from his rescheduled PT session leaning heavily on his cane, and he hasn't made an attempt to get out of his wheelchair longer than was strictly necessary for the whole journey.

She half-wants to squeeze his shoulder, but it doesn't seem like a great idea while he's propelling himself. She's still learning these subtleties, that seem so natural to Marcos and Lorna. Of course, they've had a lot more time than her to get used to it, but sometimes she feels a little jealous.

“So you said the school was outside of New York, right?” she asks. “How are we getting there? Cab?”

John shakes his head. “Someone's picking us up. Let me check.”

He stops moving and closes his eyes, reaching out. “God, this place is loud,” he says after a minute, waving toward one of the exits. “He's over there.”

They move in that direction for a bit longer before Lorna nearly squeals in excitement, running up to a man with dark glasses. Clarice stares, surprised. She's never seen Lorna so excited, or so relaxed that she would let herself go to that extent.

The stranger hugs her with a wide smile, then walks toward them.

“Scott,” John smiles beside Clarice. Scott's pause is minute, his eyebrows going up a fraction as he sees John, but Clarice doesn't miss it.

“John. It's nice to see you.”

He casually leans down to hug John. “It's been a while.”

“We've been busy,” John says. A look passes between them that Clarice doesn't completely understand.

“You look better than last time,” Scott says. “I heard the Underground is doing well? I still don't understand why you named it that.”

“That's the point,” Marcos smirks.

Scott shakes Marcos's hand, then turns to Clarice.

“Or is she why you've been busy?” he asks John with a grin. He extends a hand. “Hi, I'm Scott Summers.”

“Clarice.”

“Scott was one of our teachers,” John explains. “And he's the leader of the X-Men.”

“Nice to meet you,” Clarice says politely.

Scott hasn't removed his sunglasses anymore than she has, and Clarice notices his shades are red and very thick, and clearly not your run-of-the-mill store-bought glasses.

“He's also known as Cyclops,” John adds more quietly.

“You're Cyclops?” Clarice gapes.

“Keep your voice down, if you don't mind,” Scott mutters. “But yes, I don't just wear these because of how good they look on me,” he taps his glasses. “Neither do you, I assume.”

Clarice tries to reconcile this thin, normal-looking man with the hero she's seen on TV. The one who shoots lasers out of his eyes. She gives up quickly and shrugs.

“No,” she says. She lets her glasses slide down her nose just enough for Scott to get a glimpse of her eyes.

Scott just nods, his face neutral. “Car's out there,” he says.

They all follow him to the fancy BMV waiting in one of the disabled parking spots.

“You didn't have to park here,” John says.

“I had the placard anyway, I figured it would be easier,” Scott answers easily. “You okay to get in?”

John nods. He opens the front door and transfers smoothly into the passenger seat, not even bothering to stand up like Clarice has seen him do before. Clarice starts pushing his chair toward the back, but Scott takes it from her. “I'll do it,” he says.

Clarice looks over to John, who nods at her, so she takes a step back. Scott expertly folds and fits the chair into the trunk of the car, beside their bags, while she goes to sit in the back behind John. Lorna squeezes beside her in the middle seat while Marcos takes the left.

“There's about an hour's drive,” John tells Clarice. “The school is in Westchester.”

She listens to the conversations around her for most of the ride, John and Lorna asking Scott for news about a lot of people she doesn't know, and telling him about the café and the mutant center. She lets herself be lulled to sleep by their voice, and only wakes up when Lorna shakes her arm.

“We're almost here,” she says.

“Thank you,” Clarice nods, a bit embarrassed at her tiredness.

“Look,” Marcos tells her, pointing to the outside.

Clarice sticks her head out the window to stare at the mansion Scott is driving up to. It's at least three times as large as she imagined, and it looks ridiculously wealthy. But there are children playing in the courtyard just outside, and Clarice feels like she can picture John and Lorna being happy here as teenagers.

“I'll go park the car in the underground garage once you've got your stuff,” Scott says, stopping in front of the main door.

'There's an underground garage?' Clarice mouths at Lorna. Lorna just laughs and nods.

“There's at least three underground floors,” she says. “We were never allowed down there as students, but it's huge.”

“You know you're not supposed to tell anyone about this, don't you?” Scott frowns at Lorna.

“Yeah. But Clarice is not anyone. And all the kids who come through here know anyway.”

“Fine.” Scott pops the trunk open goes to take out John's chair, but it's suddenly floating down beside him. “Lorna!”

“Sorry!” Lorna says, not sounding sorry in the least. She unfolds the chair with her powers and lands it close to John, who's walked out of the car just far enough to lean on the frame.

“Thanks,” he says, sitting down and wheeling himself over to the trunk to get their bags out.

“I can take that,” Clarice says when he puts her bag as well as his on his lap.

“If you want, but it's not bothering me here.”

“Alright,” Clarice smiles.

She looks back at the mansion, which is so large that she can't even see it fully at this distance. It's almost a castle, really.

“This place is huge,” she says in awe.

John smirks at her, starting to wheel himself up the path.

Clarice doesn't think she would have noticed, a few months ago, the wide ramp leading up to the front doors, or the way the path before it is paved perfectly smoothly. She understand when she sees the man coming down to greet them.

“Professor!” Lorna shouts happily.

“Lorna, my dear, you look wonderful,” the bald man answers with a British accent, as Lorna bends down to hug him. She beams at him as he exclaims joyfully about her pregnant belly.

His wheelchair is nothing like John's, bulky and electrically powered, but the man seems to naturally look like a king on a throne. Or a professor on his teaching chair, Clarice reflects.

She matches John's pace as they approach. The Professor's eyes keep going back to John, even as he shakes Marcos's hand. John brings up his chair beside the Professor to hug him, somewhat awkwardly.

“It's good to see you, Professor,” John says, sounding moved.

“You too, my boy, you too.”

If it were any other situation, Clarice would have laughed at that moniker applied to John. But the moment is clearly important to both of them, and she feels like an outsider.

John wheels back to her side as the Professor comes up to her.

“Welcome to the School for Gifted Youngsters, Clarice,” he says. Clarice starts a little at her name, but of course John would have warned he was bringing her. “You don't need to hide here.”

Clarice frowns, and he gestures to her sunglasses.

“Right,” she says, removing them.

The Professor meets her eyes in near fascination. “You have a beautiful mutation,” he says with a smile.

“That's what I keep telling her,” John laughs. Clarice glares at him.

“John, will you at least introduce us?” the Professor demands.

John immediately looks chastised. “Of course, although you already know her name. Professor, this is Clarice, who I've talked to you about. Clarice, Professor X. He created this school.”

“Charles Xavier,” the Professor says, extending his hand. “You can call me Charles, or Professor, whichever makes you feel more comfortable.”

Clarice shakes his hand. “Clarice Fong,” she says, feeling like such a formal introduction should include her last name. She feels like she's meeting John's father. Which she is, if what he told her is true. God, she shouldn't have thought of that, now she's even more nervous.

“You may consider this place your home as much as John does,” the Professor says. “It is, before anything else, a place for mutants to feel safe.”

“Thank you,” Clarice says.

“Come inside.”

Lorna and Marcos have already disappeared inside somewhere, so Clarice follows John past the front doors and into a large corridor. It's lined with what looks like expensive, collector furniture, which is a little surprising for a school, but fits well into the settings.

“Will you come to my study, or do you wish to get some rest first?” the Professor asks once all three of them are inside.

John looks up at Clarice, who shrugs discreetly. “We'll come,” he says.

“Good.” The Professor leads them into a well-lit room, with a large desk and several couches on one side. “Scott will be here in a minute with some refreshments. Clarice, do you like tea?”

Clarice nods shyly. John puts their bags on the floor and transfers onto a couch. He signals Clarice to sit beside him and puts a reassuring arm behind her back, probably sensing her tension. “You okay?” he murmurs.

Clarice just relaxes into his embrace. She's more intimidated than truly anxious, so she doesn't think she's likely to panic.

The Professor leaves his wheelchair for the other couch, crossing his legs with his hands.

“I'm happy to finally meet this young lady John has been going on about,” he says casually.

Clarice chokes. “What have you been saying about me?” she asks John.

“Nothing bad,” John laughs. “Professor, please try not to embarrass Clarice too badly?”

“Does that mean I can embarrass you?” the Professor smirks, revealing a sense of humor Clarice hadn't suspected. “Because I have plenty of stories.”

“Lorna has already told me some things,” Clarice says, as John coughs loudly.

“Oh, but Lorna came here several years after John. There is a lot she doesn't know.”

Scott walks in then, carrying a tray with a full tea set on it, small sandwiches included. It posher and more British than anything Clarice has ever seen, and she wants to laugh, though she doesn't dare.

“My upbringing was not very traditional, but I have some leftover penchant for English tea from my Oxford days,” the Professor says with a smile. “Scott, will you be staying with us?”

“I don't want to intrude,” Scott says, putting the tray down on a low table.

“I'm sure you and John have already caught up, but you're welcome to stay.”

“Alright. Not for long though, I need to go back to grading papers.”

“We won't be long either,” John says. “I think we both need to rest.”

Scott nods and kneels to serve the tea, passing them their cups.

“So, John, how are your classes going?” the Professor asks. “It always amazes me when former students become teachers in their own right,” he adds to Clarice, giving both John and Scott a fond look.

“Good,” John answers. “We haven't had any accident in a couple of months, which, when you think that I'm trying to get teenagers to control their powers, is a near miracle−”

“Don't we know about that,” Scott mutters.

“What do you teach?” Clarice asks him.

“Math, mostly. And leadership skills and tactics.”

“That doesn't sound like a regular class.”

“It's not. We offer a bunch of electives to the older students. They are...let's say tailored to the skills they're likely to need further down the road.”

“I see,” Clarice says, unsure that she's really understanding all the implications the three men are clearly familiar with. She'll ask John later, if she remembers to.

After that, the conversation devolves into the Professor and Scott updating John on various students and former classmates, which Clarice mostly tunes out. She looks around the room instead, noticing the expensive but tasty furniture. The Professor's desk looks like a typical teacher's desk, piled up with papers, though there are none on the floor or in hard-to-reach places, and no chair behind it.

“You should go get some rest,” the Professor says suddenly, and Clarice realizes when John squeezes her arm that she's spaced out completely.

“Yes, I think we should,” John says.

“I had the housekeeper prepare you the same room as last time. Was I right to assume you would want only one room? If not, there is plenty of space−”

“It's all good,” John stops him. “Let's go, then.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Clarice says, standing up.

“You're very welcome, dear,” the Professor answers.

John transfers back to his wheelchair and puts their bags back on his lap.

“John?” the Professor calls, something like anxious concern in his voice.

John and Clarice both turn back toward him.

“On the phone...” he hesitates. “You said you were walking now.”

“Yes,” John smiles. “I am. It's just been a long day. Don't worry, you'll see tomorrow.”

“I'll hold you to that,” the Professor smiles.

“In the meantime, I'll take advantage that this place is fully accessible.”

“Very well. Should we expect you for dinner? We often dine with the students,” the Professor explains to Clarice, “but we could also eat in the staff room. But I can have food sent to your room if you'd prefer.”

“Staff room sounds good,” John answers. “The children may be a bit much for tonight, but I'd like Clarice to meet the other teachers.”

“Then it should be ready by seven.”

“Thanks. We'll see you later, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Did you like John and Clarice's interaction with the Professor and Scott?
> 
> This universe is meant to be more or less what we glimpse at the end of Days of Future Past, as in, movie-verse and similar to the original trilogy, but there was no cure and the Brotherhood is still out there. And, obviously, no one died.
> 
> In the next chapter we'll see few more characters! I'll be adding tags as they appear.


End file.
